Little Boy Blue
by stranded chess piece
Summary: Sonny and Clay's bromance is on the rocks, and Bravo are spun up for a mission to Liberia - which is the last thing Clay wants or needs right now.
1. Chapter 1

**I've decided to share this first chapter in the hope that it will inspire me to keep chipping away at this fic. It's planned for about 5 chapters long, but we'll see how it evolves. It came about from looking at a map of Liberia. Set early season 3. As always, I don't own these guys. I have very little military or medical knowledge. And all mistakes are 100% mine. Thanks for reading :)**

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Clay pinched his cell phone between his ear and shoulder, juggling his duffel and shoving open the door to Bravo's cage room with such force that it hit the wall and rebounded into him.

Anger radiated off him in waves. He slammed the door closed and held his phone against his ear once more, stalking towards his cage without so much as a glance around to check if he had an audience.

"How about this for a suggestion," he spat into the device. "You lose my number, and you get the fuck out of my life."

Jabbing the 'end call' button, he approached his cage door, roughly unlocked it, and flung the phone as hard as he could into the wall ahead of him.

Not surprisingly, it smashed on impact.

Another wave of anger overwhelmed him, and he threw his duffel down, not caring if he broke anything within it.

Leaning against the metal shelf that housed some of his gear, he braced himself with both hands, bowed his head, squeezed eyes closed. Counted breaths.

"Woah there, little buddy," came a familiar Texan drawl from somewhere behind him. "That's some tantrum right there. Now what did your poor phone do to deserve such a violent demise?"

Clay's nostrils flared as he breathed jaggedly through his nose, willing himself calm. He didn't look at Sonny. Set his jaw and lifted his eyes to the ceiling instead. His anger slowly deflated, but still bubbled menacingly, just beneath the surface.

Tense silence lingered for a handful of beats.

"I'd ask if you're okay," Sonny continued. "But I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that you're not."

Clay chewed his lip. He really didn't want to be having a conversation with anyone right now. Not when he was so emotionally charged. He just wanted to head into the team room for the briefing, go somewhere and shoot someone. Or a few someones. Perhaps blow some things up.

But of course, Sonny wouldn't leave it alone.

"Stella do something to piss you off?"

Clay let his eyes fall. Bit down on his bottom lip and let it scrape under his front teeth. Gaze darted to Sonny. Huffed at the question. Offered no reply.

Yes, Stella had done something to piss him off. But that was days ago. She'd woken up one morning and had told him that she had a work thing, that she was going away for a couple of days to some conference. That she felt like she needed to take some time to think. Because she'd thought they could make it work this time, but now she wasn't so sure. Hadn't told him if it was the ugly scar on his leg that was bothering her, or the nightmares he woke from nearly every night. But he knew it had something to do with his job. Just like last time. And he felt stupid for having let her into his heart again.

Yes, he was angry with Stella - but it wasn't Stella who had made him smash his phone.

That honor belonged to his asshole father, Ash.

The man who only seemed interested in Clay when he was back from an op, when he might have a story to tell or information that could be used for his damned book. Clay had noticed that during the month he'd been back with Bravo, his father had tried to contact him nearly once a week, asking to catch up. There was nothing genuine about it. And Clay was done with it. Done with him. Never wanted to speak with him again.

But the man didn't take a hint. Hell, Clay had been trying to get away from his father for his entire life, and yet still Ash clung on. Like a parasite.

He regarded Sonny levelly. He would have told his best friend all of this, but when he'd suggested the two of them catch up, Sonny had blown him off. Apologized and said he had other plans - which seemed often to be the case, these days. Clay guessed he was too busy with his mystery lady friend. Who he still hadn't told Clay about.

And, therein lay the problem.

Because Clay had been asking for months. And Sonny had dodged answering every single time. At first, Clay was intrigued. But then as time went by, he felt frustrated. Now – well, now he just felt hurt.

"You want _me_ to tell you what's going on in _my_ personal life?" The words tumbled from his lips before he had a chance to grab them back.

Sonny shifted, leaning his elbow against the entry to Clay's cage.

Clay scoffed. Shook his head. Felt his bubbling anger increase in intensity once more. "Trust is a two-way street, man." He turned and snagged his broken phone, regarded it briefly. Tried to turn it on. Nothing happened. Yep, he'd well and truly fucked it up. Brilliant.

Sonny blew out an unsteady breath. Adjusted his cap nervously.

Clay didn't allow him time to answer. Grabbed his own cap and shoved it on his head, swinging the brim around to the back. Shouldered past his team mate.

Sonny moved back from the cage door as Clay slammed it closed, locked it.

Clay moved towards the exit. Halted. Spun around and held up his broken phone, using it to point at Sonny. "You know," he said tersely. "I don't even care who this lady friend of yours is any more."

Sonny opened his mouth.

Clay cut him off. "Hell, I don't even care if _she_ is actually a _he_."

Sonny made a face at the suggestion. "Look, man, it's not that. It's just -"

"- Complicated." Clay supplied. Threw both arms up, let them fall to his sides. "I get it. You've told me a thousand times." He huffed again. "You're missing the point." He felt his anger give way to tiredness. Defeat. Shook his head. "It's been months, man. I've been asking you for _months_. Friends share this type of shit. But you've completely blocked me out." He swallowed jaggedly. "You don't trust me enough to tell me what's going on?"

It was Sonny's turn to look defeated. He let his elbow drop. Sighed heavily. "Clay, dude, it's -"

But Clay was done with the conversation. Whatever excuse Sonny was about to offer this time, he didn't want to hear it. They were expected in the team room. Clay was growing more and more grateful every time they were spun up. It meant an escape from his real life, which, quite frankly, sucked. He'd meant what he'd said to Jason on that rooftop in Serbia – war really was his refuge. He found peace in the fight.

Turning once more towards the door, he gripped his broken phone tighter and stalked out of the room. Whatever Sonny said behind him was lost as the door slammed closed.

He made his way towards the team room, slamming his phone into a trash can instead of the holder by the entrance

A small part of him felt bad for taking his frustration out on Sonny. But he'd been honest when he'd said he was hurt by his friend's lack of trust.

Perhaps, he thought as he pushed the door open, it would be better to just shut down. Emotions in a box. Lock the lid, focus on his job. Forget about rocky friendships, dysfunctional family, and broken hearts. Lose himself in each mission. Perhaps that was the only way to survive this game.

Making his way towards an empty chair, he plopped down heavily. Drew a steadying breath. Offered half-hearted greetings to his fellow team mates. And waited in anticipation to be told the where, when and why.

Unfortunately, it was far from the welcome reprieve Clay had been expecting.

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Sonny lingered another minute after Clay stormed out, not quite ready to follow. He needed a moment to gather himself after his youngest team mate's little outburst.

Guilt swirled in his belly. Normally he was a pro at shaking these things off, but he'd caught the genuine hurt in Clay's expression – and it wasn't unfounded.

Sonny had been wanting to tell Clay about him and Davis for months. Clay was right – their friendship was solid, they were meant to be able to share anything with each other. Hell, they'd been through enough together that there was no question of trust. It gutted him to think that Clay doubted their bond.

The truth was, he had no idea how to tell Clay. And while he trusted his closest friend to keep it a secret, it wasn't just his secret to keep. It was Davis' as well. And word getting out could spell disaster for both of their careers.

Scrubbing a hand over his beard, he swallowed roughly around the unwelcome lump in his throat. Hurting Clay was the last thing he'd wanted. It was obvious his little brother was having a rough time of things. Normally Sonny would prod and probe him until he spilled, and then help him back on his feet. This time, however, Clay had slammed the door. Shut down. Drifted deliberately out of reach. Not a good way for them to be, especially not right before an op.

Placing his hands on his hips, he sucked in a slow breath, blew it out.

He would make it right. He just had to speak with Davis, get her okay to share their secret with Clay. Explain how Clay was feeling. He'd worked hard to grow his bond with their pain-in-the-ass rookie. He'd be damned if he was going to lose it. Guys like Clay were rare, and Sonny knew beyond a doubt that he was lucky to have someone like Clay Spenser as a friend.

Pushing feelings aside and doing his best to scrub his expression clean, he left the cage room and made his way to meet the rest of his team.

Upon entering he realized he was the last to arrive. Hurriedly, he took a seat. Shot a look at Clay, who was slouched down in a chair not making eye contact with anyone. Little brother looked like a sulking child. Which, under different circumstances, Sonny might have given him shit for. But not today.

Davis caught his eye. Looked pointedly at Clay. Quirked a questioning brow.

Sonny gave a minute shake of his head.

Blackburn clapped his hands, all business. "Right," he announced. "Everyone's here. Let's get started." He nodded at Davis. "Floor's yours."

She quickly pulled her eyes from Sonny's, switched gears almost imperceptibly, and refocused on the task at hand.

Clicking a button on a laptop, she brought up an image of a middle-aged African man who had cold eyes and matching scars down each of his cheeks. "Meet Hussan Konneh," she stated. "Next big thing in the terms of West-African recruitment for terrorist organizations. Likes to build bombs."

Another click of a button brought up images of carnage, aftermath of various bomb blasts. "Responsible for multiple attacks throughout Africa and the Middle East, mainly targeting western aid workers."

A few more clicks – more nightmare fuel. "He's been very difficult to pin down, but we have evidence that he arrived yesterday in Liberia and is currently holed up in a small township north-east of Monrovia."

Sonny leaned forward on the table, resting on his elbows. Liberia was where Clay grew up. His first unofficial mission with Bravo had been to Monrovia. His gaze darted to his youngest team mate.

But Clay's poker face was holding steady. He hadn't flinched.

Davis brought up a satellite image of a cluster of buildings close to a river, a few cars parked around them. Dense forest appeared to surround the area. There were a few roads in, a few roads out, and a handful more buildings scattered here and there. It wasn't much of a township, that was for sure.

She zoomed in on the largest building. "This is where we've been able to track him to. He never stays in one place for long, so chances are he'll be on the move again soon. We have people on the ground keeping an eye on things." She locked eyes with Jason. "This is the first solid chance we've had to take him out."

Jason joined Sonny, leaning forward on elbows. "Take him out, or bring him in?"

Davis pulled herself straighter. "Ideally, bring him in."

Sonny chewed his lip. He'd forgotten his toothpick. He let his gaze skim over the images. He always preferred to just eliminate targets. Much easier that way. Why let them keep breathing longer than they had to? But he understood the need to try to squeeze them for info, save more lives, all that jazz. He wasn't in a position to argue - and he wouldn't argue. He was proud of Davis and how well she was handling her new role. He wanted to support her, not cause any headaches.

"Is our intel solid on this one?" Jason speared both Blackburn and Davis with a weighty look.

"As solid as it can be," Blackburn replied evenly. He shifted his weight, let his gaze skip over his team. "We can save a lot of lives by bagging Hassan. But time's against us on this one. We want to get there before he moves again." He let his hands rest on his hips. "Get your affairs in order, heads in gear. We're wheels up in thirty. It's a long flight and we need to hit the ground running. We're scheduled to arrive tomorrow mid-afternoon in Monrovia, and we'll pay Hassan a visit in Clay-Ashland tomorrow night. We'll go over further details once we're in the air."

Sonny furrowed his brow, gaze skipping to Clay. Noticed his brothers doing the same.

Clay, for his part, had stiffened slightly in his seat. His jaw was rigid, expression unreadable.

Sonny opened his mouth, closed it again. Did he just hear that right?

Jason beat him to it. "Did you just say we're heading to a town named _Clay-Ashland_?"

Davis' lip quirked, and Sonny narrowed his eyes at her. It wasn't an appropriate time to joke. He leaned back in his chair, considering the possibility that it was some type of coincidence.

Nope. Highly unlikely.

"I believe your grandparents ran a mission out of there." Blackburn's words were directed at Clay.

Clay didn't make eye contact with any of his team. Nodded slowly at their commander. Sonny could tell by his demeaner that he was battling to keep any emotion from his expression. Walls up full-force.

"If you have any info that could help us with the op," Blackburn continued, nodding at their youngest man. "Please don't hesitate to share it."

Clay chewed his lip. Bobbed his head in return. "I'm sure it's changed a lot since I was last there." His words were stiff, voice a little quieter than normal.

Blackburn's eyes lingered on Clay a moment longer. Sonny noticed Jason's brow crease as he also regarded their boy, their team leader possibly picking up on the dark cloud surrounding him.

"So, Goldilocks," Sonny ventured, deciding to risk it and voice the question that was swirling around his mind. "You named after a town, or is the town named after you?" Surely he couldn't be the only one wondering.

Clay sat up straighter, adjusted his cap. Shot a brief, cool, glance at Sonny. Let his gaze catch on Jason. "A story for another day," came the clipped reply.

Sonny could nearly see Clay's defense barriers, slammed up around him. He took a steadying breath, backed off. Another day then, perhaps. At least, Sonny hoped so – if Clay ever let him in again.

"On that note," Blackburn announced. "We have work to do. Grab your gear." He began scooping up paperwork. "I'll see you on the plane."

Clay was one of the first through the door. It was like he couldn't get out of there fast enough. Sonny caught Brock staring after him, dark eyes betraying a hint of concern. Jason left, chatting with Blackburn. And Trent scuttled off, muttering something about getting his med kit in order because Liberian hospitals were useless. Ray followed closely behind.

Davis lingered, moved closer to lean against the table. Raised a brow at Sonny and nodded pointedly towards the door. "Trouble in paradise?" She asked quietly.

Sonny didn't have to clarify what she meant, knew she was referring to him and Clay. He let out a barely stifled groan. Scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Worried mine and Blondie's marriage might be on the rocks," he admitted, trying for humor, but still feeling the weight of Clay's earlier words.

Davis let out a breath, expression serious. "Whatever it is," she told him firmly. "You need to fix it."

He knew that. And he would.

"I'm anxious enough when you guys are out there, doing what you do." Vulnerability seeped through her tone, words for Sonny's ears only. "Make sure you put this behind you, whatever _this_ is. Before you go after Hassan."

Sonny understood. Knew she was right. He needed to get his head in gear. And he needed to make sure Clay had his head on straight as well. He also needed to have a chat with Davis, about opening up to Clay. But now wasn't the time. "Yes, Ma'am," he muttered, doing his best to sound confident.

She didn't look convinced. Eyed him as he pushed up from his chair.

"Is the town we're headed to really called Clay-Ashland?" He asked, attempting to change the subject.

Davis shook her head. Punched him lightly in the shoulder as she moved off. Didn't answer his question. "See you on the plane," she offered over her shoulder as she moved back towards her laptop.

Sonny adjusted the brim of his cap. Twenty-two hours in the air. It was a long trip. Hopefully he'd have a chance to talk with Clay.

His stomach clenched. It wasn't sitting well, this sudden, heavy tension between them. And if he'd been worried about Clay's mindset after the kid had smashed his phone in the cage room, he was even more concerned now. He'd seen the way Clay had reacted to the news that they were heading back to Liberia. His boy wasn't in a good place. And going into a mission like this one, a bad mindset could be frighteningly dangerous.

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Clay had been laying in his hammock for at least an hour, with no luck yet on sleep. Despite the Ambien. He blinked at the familiar ceiling of the C-17, feeling the fuzziness of the sleep aid, but not being able to switch his brain off.

Heading back to Liberia, to _Clay-Ashland_ for fucks sake, was the last thing he needed right now. He had hoped that this op would be a nice distraction. But it turned out the universe really did hate him, and he felt ghosts from his past knocking on his door. He was already emotionally on edge from his dramas with Stella and his father, and his uncomfortable confrontation with Sonny – he didn't need to be rifling through old memories from his childhood as well. He was worried if the lid came off that box, he'd never be able to put it back on again.

Clay draped an arm over his eyes, blew out a slow breath. His stomach churned. They had gone through their plan of attack once in the air. Decided to helo in to a field a few clicks from the outskirts of the township, make their way through a small area of jungle and approach the building from the south. Clay had stared at the map, recalling dirt roads, loose chickens, dense jungle, and the smell of warm rain. He'd felt his grandfather's calloused hand in his, leading him towards the river, fishing rod bobbing under his other arm. Smelled his grandmother's freshly baked apple pie, heard her gentle voice as she'd comforted him after he'd fallen and grazed his knees in the gravel.

He'd never had a problem getting his head in gear before a mission, until now.

On his first unofficial op with Bravo, when he'd been a strap (not that he was ever really a strap, as far as he was concerned), he had been so focused on not screwing up, on making a good impression, that any memories he'd had of Liberia had been easily overrun and squashed back down. They'd stayed locked in their neat little box, where they belonged.

Now, it appeared, the locks were failing.

Clay squeezed his eyes closed. Tried to measure his breathing. Perhaps if he didn't think so hard about going to sleep, it might actually come.

He'd never properly grieved after his grandparents' death. He'd already been back in the States, had been enlisted for six months, when they'd been killed in a car accident. He'd channeled his grief into determination. His grandparents had spent so much of their lives serving others, doing what they'd believed was right, just to try to make the world a better place. Clay had enlisted to follow in their footsteps, to do his bit – as well as to piss off his father.

Ash had tried to contact him on and off during those early Navy days, but Clay had kept him at arm's length. He'd shut his memories of Liberia away, drawing on them when he'd needed strength to get through his training. They were like little treasures, lighting his way. And he was damned protective of them. He deliberately didn't share them with Ash, almost scared his father might ruin them. And as he'd seen more and more horrors during his years in the military, he'd locked them further and further away, not wanting them to be tarnished or broken by his now slightly wavering faith in humanity.

There was a lump in his throat. Clay tried to swallow it down, but it refused to budge. He would be lying if he said he wasn't worried. A glance at his watch showed that he had approximately seventeen hours left to get his shit together, put a stop to his unravelling.

Sonny had approached him just after he'd swallowed his useless sleepy pill. Attempted to have a chat about what had happened back in the cages. Attempted an apology. Promised that when time allowed it, they would sit down and have a proper talk. Attempted to find out if Clay was actually okay. Attempted to offer support.

But Clay hadn't been in the mood for a heart-to-heart. He hadn't felt it was the time, or the place. He'd brushed Sonny off, telling him to get some sleep because they had a job to do. Reinforced his walls. Readjusted his stoic mask.

What he _should_ have said was sorry for ripping into him back at base. But the words didn't seem to want to leave his lips. Stubbornness? Perhaps. Or perhaps he was still hurt. And had way too many other things competing for attention inside his head.

Whatever the case, Clay was well aware that things with his best friend weren't ideal. And he knew that it should bother him, but at the moment, he felt like he had bigger fish to fry – such as not falling to pieces right before an important mission and possibly getting one of his team mates, or himself, killed.

The hammock swung slightly as they hit a spot of mild turbulence. Clay's stomach rolled with it. He needed to get a grip on himself, and he needed to do it fast.

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Sonny drained the last of the water from his bottle and screwed the lid back on harder than necessary. Most of the guys were already snoring in their hammocks, but Sonny wasn't quite ready to lay down. He was feeling antsy, anxious and on-edge. A whole heap of uncomfortable emotions that he wasn't used to feeling. Hell, he'd never felt this churned up after a fight with any of his (now ex) girlfriends. Not being able to properly clear the air with Clay was pulling him apart.

He'd tried to talk to his little brother, but Clay hadn't wanted to chat. Had kept Sonny at arm's length. Reminded him that they had other things to focus on. And Sonny had backed off, because really, when Clay wanted to isolate himself, there was nothing anyone could do. That kid was an expert at shutting people out. And right now, he'd not only locked himself in his own personal fortress – he'd built a moat and closed the draw-bridge. As much as it hurt, Sonny knew he wasn't going to be able to fix things with the younger man any time soon. Perhaps once they were on the ground, he might have another chance.

A bump to his shoulder startled him. He turned to see Jason.

Their team leader leaned up against a crate, folded his arms over his chest. "Thought I ordered you all to get some sleep," he stated, regarding Sonny.

Sonny huffed, fiddled with the empty bottle. "Doesn't look like you've followed through on that either."

Jason held his gaze, quirked his lip.

A beat passed between them.

"Need to ask you a favor," Jason said, lowering his voice a little.

Sonny pulled himself a little straighter. Arched a brow. A favor for Jason Hayes… Couldn't be anything good.

Jason tilted his head in the direction of the hammocks. "Remember back before our first deployment with Spenser, I asked you to look out for him?"

How could Sonny forget. He'd fought it tooth and nail, but he'd reluctantly followed through on the order and had quietly taken Clay under his wing. It hadn't taken him long to realize that he could learn just as much from their rookie, as Clay could learn from him. It was part of what had led them to become so close, and to this day Sonny was privately very grateful for being asked to 'babysit'. Not that Clay had ever needed a babysitter – kid had proven very early on that he was a class A ass-kicker who would do anything for his brothers.

"I need you to keep a close eye on him while we're in Liberia." Jason's gaze was steady, expression serious.

Sonny nodded slowly. Nothing much got past Jason, and he'd obviously picked up on Clay's stormy demeaner. Sonny didn't mention the incident in the cages, nor that part of Clay's bad mood was a result of him being pissed with his supposed best friend. He stared towards Clay's hammock. Chewed his lip. "Roger that," he replied.

Jason ran a hand over his stubble. Let out a long breath. "I'm just gonna trust that he'll tell me if his head isn't right for this op," he said finally. "I don't recall him being off when he joined us that first time to Monrovia. But we didn't know him back then. Couldn't read him like we do now." His gaze darted to Sonny. "And this time, he's most definitely off."

Sonny couldn't argue with that.

"Possibly hitting closer to home, with us heading to the town he grew up in," Jason speculated. "None of us know much about the time he spent with his grandparents as a kid."

That much was true. Clay hadn't offered, and none of them had probed too hard. They'd all got the impression that those memories were well-guarded. Cards held closely to Clay's chest, for his eyes only.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Sonny found himself repeating. Realizing that even without Jason asking, he'd intended to do just that.

Jason squeezed a smile, clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks." He pushed off the crate, made his way towards the hammocks. "Now go get some sleep," he called back over his shoulder.

Sonny offered a splinter of a smile in return.

Sleep. Huh. That sure as hell wasn't going to come easily.

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**So I was as surprised as Sonny to see that there actually is a small town in Liberia named Clay-Ashland. I'm guessing that's where the two Spensers got their names. I'd love this to be woven into the actual show, with a backstory. But for now, I'll just keep imagining my own :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much everyone for your encouraging words! It's so appreciated. And thanks again for reading :) As always, all mistakes are wholeheartedly mine.**

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The last tendrils of light were seeping from the sky. Clouds loomed on the horizon, gathering menacingly, catching the last pinks and oranges of the sunset.

They had checked the weather, had seen no storms coming. The mission would still go ahead. But Clay knew, looking at those clouds, that they were in for a wet night. October was the tail end of the African Monsoon. And that meant if rain was coming, it wouldn't be a light shower – it would be a torrential downpour.

He leaned back against the side of the C-17. It was parked on the tarmac at the Monrovian airfield. The ramp was down, warm air blowing in, thick with humidity. Clay was perched on an upturned crate, staring out at the horizon.

They had one hour before they needed to get geared up, get themselves ready for the final run-down. They'd been told to grab something to eat, get their heads in gear.

Clay hadn't managed to fully achieve either of those objectives.

The plane was parked by a large hanger. They'd set up their operations center within, were using shipping containers. No fancy command centers here.

A chopper had been moved from the hanger out to the tarmac, perched by the C-17, awaiting go-time. Support personnel were busy within the hanger and coming and going up and down the ramp.

The rest of Bravo were around, eating, finishing showering – preparing for the op in their own ways. Clay was grateful that so far no one had bothered him. But he knew it was only a matter of time before one of his brothers spied him – which would probably result in a lecture on the importance of eating, and questions about why he was sitting alone.

Clay blinked out at the horizon once more. He could see the tops of some of the Monrovian high rises. If that's even what they could be called. Barely high rise in the US sense of the term. Made from a mish-mash of building materials, some looking inches away from falling down. Third world condensed living at its best.

He took a steadying breath, let his eyes slip closed for a moment. He recalled the first time he'd set foot here – barely six years old, his entire world turned upside down. His grandparents had met him at the airport. He'd travelled all that way on his own, pushed onto the plane by his hysterically crying mother, handed over to the flight attendants.

That had been the last time he'd seen his mother. She'd died from a drug overdose a few months later. The memory of her tear stained face had haunted his dreams for years. But eventually, he'd managed to stuff it into its own box.

Clay had a lot of boxes.

For a long time, he'd resented his mother. But as he'd matured, he'd realized just what she'd done for him - and why. She hadn't been well, wasn't equipped to be a parent. Had recognized that Ash was possibly even less equipped. She'd sent Clay to her parents in Africa because she'd loved him and had wanted the best for him. Somehow, even through the chaos that must have been raging through her troubled mind, she'd realized that it was the right thing to do for her little boy. And Clay would forever be grateful.

He swallowed jaggedly. Thinking about his mother, his grandparents, it hurt like hell. Especially sitting here where the memories of that time in his life were startlingly loud.

It had been such an upheaval moving here. Going from his safe western bubble, where everything made sense even if his home life was a wreck, to this – it was culture shock, and some. The things he'd seen, even in his first few months here, had rattled him. The language barrier, the lack of anything familiar … it had been a lot for a young child to take in.

But his grandparents had been warm and welcoming, teaching him gently about the world even though they lived in a place that was anything but gentle. He couldn't remember either of his parents ever embracing him as a child, holding or comforting him. And yet he had countless memories of being held lovingly in his grandparents' arms. Despite the turmoil and poverty surrounding him, he'd felt safe. His life here had set the foundations for who he was today. He owed his grandparents a great deal.

Clay leaned forward, resting elbows on knees. Pulled the cap off his head and let it dangle, brim brushing the metal floor. He'd forgotten how suffocating the Liberian humidity could be. During the time he'd lived here he'd grown accustomed to it. But now it was stifling, uncomfortable, like a heavy, wet blanket draped around him.

There was a familiar click-clack of claws on metal, and Cerb appeared, trotting up the ramp towards Clay. He nuzzled Clay's elbow affectionately, dumped a rubber chew toy at his feet. Looked up hopefully.

Clay smiled at his furry team mate, leant down to pick up the horrible looking drool-covered object. Sighed. If Cerb was here, Brock wouldn't be far behind.

Clay furrowed his brow as he regarded the chew toy. Cerb's tail wagged hopefully. "What the fuck is this supposed to be?" Clay asked the dog, turning it over in his hands. It was long, flesh colored. Flopped around.

"It's an arm."

And there was Brock.

Clay offered a brief glance at his team mate. Raised a brow. Regarded the object once again – noticed that yes, it was indeed a human arm with a balled fist. Of course. Cerberus was a nightmare on four legs (if he didn't class you as a friend), why wouldn't he have a pretend human limb as a toy?

Clay wobbled the rubber arm, threw it down the ramp. Couldn't help but chuckle at the way Cerberus gleefully shot after it. Pounced on it, jaws clamped, shook it violently. Returned it lovingly to Clay.

Brock pulled up his own crate, plopped himself down.

Clay rubbed Cerb's ears affectionately.

"He's eager to get to work," Brock grinned. "Can you tell?"

Clay let his gaze skip from one set of dark brown eyes to the next, thinking that at least Cerberus could make up for his own lack of enthusiasm for this op.

Silence settled between them. Clay threw the rubber arm again. Cerberus nearly bypassed the ramp entirely, becoming airborne for a moment in his rush to chase after it. Lethal, flying canine - Cerb was more badass than any of them.

"So," Brock started, voice gentle.

Ah, here it comes, thought Clay. The lecture.

But Brock wasn't one to chew his ear off. The mild-mannered dog handler was never gruff. Sometimes Clay wondered how on earth he was a SEAL. He wasn't an angry, raging lunatic like most of the other DEVGRU guys. No, Brock was dangerous in other ways. His silence was deceiving. Clay had no doubt that Brock would be one to plot, and then take someone out in their sleep, with no one the wiser. He liked Brock. He was a good guy, and a dependable team mate.

Brock chose not to lecture. Instead he asked, "Is Clay-Ashland where you spent most of your time, as a kid?"

Cerberus bounded back up the ramp. Bypassed his handler, stopped at Clay's knee. Dropped the floppy, fake arm. Rested his head on Clay's thigh. Clay let his fingers move through the soft fur, drawing a sense of comfort from the action. Drew a breath, cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Yeah it was," he replied, eyes drifting out across the tarmac again.

Silence settled between them.

Clay wasn't sure why he didn't just stop the conversation there. Perhaps he was distracted by scratching around Cerb's ears, the friendly paw that came to rest on his knee. The quick lick at his wrist. "My grandparents had a house there," he continued, recalling the drafty timber building with wrap-around verandahs. "My grandmother stayed in the town most of the time, helped out at the local school and church. We had a lot of kids come through the house, and she helped them with tuition. My grandfather traveled around a lot, to other villages, taking care packages to schools, helping with maintenance of buildings, that sort of thing."

Brock listened quietly.

Clay could still smell the interior of his grandfather's old truck. Torn leather seats. Squeaky windows with stiff manual roll-downs. Both the exterior and interior of the vehicle were always covered in a fine film of dust from the dirt roads. "I was homeschooled, mostly," he said. "But I often went with my grandfather, visiting other schools. I made friends all over the place."

"Is that how you learnt the local dialects?" Brock asked.

Clay gave a half smile. Yeah. That was how he'd learnt. The world was his classroom – that's what his grandfather had said. You could learn to read, learn to do numbers, but the most important lessons came from simply living.

Brock blew out a breath. "That's a pretty amazing childhood," he said after a moment, eyeing Clay. "Very different from most American kids. I can imagine you learned a lot, in your time here."

Clay nodded slowly. Cerb leaned his head more heavily against his thigh. "Yeah," he replied quietly. "It was pretty amazing." And, also pretty challenging, sometimes. Clay was exposed to many things whilst he'd been here. Life lessons, all of them. But not all of them positive. Liberia wasn't exactly the most stable, developed country in the world.

Feeling like he'd possibly said too much, Clay quickly slammed the lid back on his box of memories. He was supposed to be trying to prepare for tonight, scrub his mind clean. He gave Cerb one last ear rub, shook his cap and swung it back onto his head. Let his eyes wander towards the hanger. Caught a brief glimpse of Sonny hovering with Trent, looking their way.

Leaning back against the side of the plane, he sighed, glanced at Brock. "So," he said evenly. "Let me guess. Sonny put you up to this, coming over to check on me?"

Brock feigned innocence. Grabbed the chew toy, threw it again for Cerberus to chase. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Clay huffed. Right. "You're a terrible liar, Brock." He glanced past the dog handler, back to where his team mates still hovered – now trying to look like they weren't keeping tabs.

Brock regarded the younger man. Quirked a lip. "And so are you," he countered, unflinchingly.

Clay held his gaze a moment longer. Cerb bounded back up the ramp, dropped the rubber arm expectantly. Clay blinked away, swallowed jaggedly. Reinforced his walls. Fixed his mask back into place.

Check mate, brother, he thought.

Check mate.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

The night was inky, thick with humidity. Clouds ready to burst with rain at any moment. Clay was sweating under his tac gear, and he imagined his brothers were doing the same. The air blowing through the open sides of the chopper did nothing to cool them down as they were carried towards Clay-Ashland.

It was just after midnight. Below them, the occasional car's headlights could be seen snaking along what Clay knew were pothole-filled dirt roads. Clusters of dim lights here and there indicated houses, small towns. But they were widely spread. If you didn't like neighbors, Liberia was the place to be. Large pockets of darkness indicated fields, areas of rainforest. And somewhere down there, Clay knew, the St Paul River wound its way along, its water muddy and brown from rain.

The choppers blades went thump-thump-thump.

And Clay felt his heart competing, racing along.

Despite his best efforts, his head was still a mess. He was continually being assaulted by memories – some welcome, others not. He watched the landscape drift by beneath them, mentally tracking where they were. How many times had he travelled those roads? How many seasons had he seen come and go in this place?

He blinked at a cluster of lights, guessing it was the town of Caldwell. Pushed aside an image of a filthy, gaunt man standing on a street corner, holding a sign with human bones attached that claimed mercenaries had killed his entire family, begging for justice. Clay had been eight at the time, traveling with his grandfather to the local church to drop off care packages. His gaze had locked with the man's as they'd passed by, and he would never forget the haunted, completely ruined look those sunken eyes had held. He couldn't imagine that the man would had have lived long enough to get the justice he was hoping for. It had been obvious to Clay at the time, despite his limited understanding of the world, that the man had already decided he had nothing left to live for. And broken people could do desperate things … Clay knew that for sure.

They were nearly there. Their flight path took them further east of Clay-Ashland, on the opposite side of the river. They would bypass it, circle back, and land to the north. It had been the best approach for concealing the sound of the chopper, given the wind direction. Once on the ground, they would trek through rainforest, and then approach the building from the river side. If the intel held up, Hassan would never see them coming, and it should be a straightforward snatch and grab. ISR observations had indicated that there were a number of armed individuals in the building, but aside from that, they weren't expecting any extra company tonight.

Clay measured his breaths. Tightened his grip on his rifle.

Sonny sat to his left, Trent to his right. Before they'd boarded, Sonny had intercepted him with a hand on his shoulder. Bobbed his head, offered a fist for Clay to bump. There was an unspoken 'We good?' that had settled between them. Clay had eyed Sonny's fist, brought his own to knock against it. They were as good as they could be, given the circumstances. Sonny had once again promised Clay that they would have a decent talk, when time permitted. And Clay had believed him. Mostly.

He'd turned away from his best friend and had climbed aboard, avoiding Trent's assessing stare. His medic team mate had already asked him three times since they'd arrived if he was feeling okay, and Clay had brushed him off each time, grumbling away from the hand that had slapped against his forehead on the third attempt to check him over. He wasn't in the mood to be suffocated. Since Manila, all of his brothers had upped the ante on their mother hen-ing over him, in their own subtle - and not so subtle - ways. Normally, he ignored it. But right now he just needed them all to back off.

The chopper banked gently, and they turned for their final approach.

Go-time.

Clay closed his eyes briefly. Grounded himself in the moment. Forced his breathing steady, silenced his thoughts. His brothers were relying on him to have their backs. No matter what unwelcome storm raged within him, he would not let them down.

A handful of minutes passed, and then they were on the ground, launching from the chopper and moving as one into the night. Rifles drawn. Crouched low in the field as they made for the cover of the trees.

"Passing Hudson," Jason whispered into his coms as the shadows swallowed them up.

And then Blackburn's voice a moment later. "Copy that, Bravo One."

Clay followed closely behind his team leader, stepping carefully through the undergrowth. The tangle of trees looked eerie through his night vision. He caught the flare of a small animal's eyes as it scuttled away, possibly a rodent of some sort. Ignored it. There were probably all sorts of animals lurking around here.

They closed the remainder of the distance to the building in silence. Once they arrived, they gathered, crouched low in the undergrowth, observing the property.

"HAVOC this is One," Jason reported. "We've reached the perimeter. Standby."

"That's a good copy, One," Blackburn replied. "Standing by."

A gravel road separated them from the two-story building. Two utility trucks were parked out the front. From their position they had a clear view of the building and had made note of one armed man with a cigarette loitering by the front door - which matched what Davis had reported just before they'd reached their destination. Unfortunately, it had started to rain quite heavily, which was interfering with their eyes in the sky.

Their satellite feed here was patchy at best. Now they had to assume they were on their own.

Jason's voice came over their coms. "Sonny, you're with me. We'll enter through the front. Ray and Brock, you go through the back. Trent, rear security, take care of any squirters. Clay, you can take care of our friend by the entry, and then cover the front."

"Check," Clay replied, alongside the other acknowledgements. Set his jaw. Tried not to think about why he'd been given front security instead of a more active role within the building. Pushed the worry aside. If Jason was doubting his ability to operate effectively right now, it wasn't entirely unfounded. But Clay was determined to put that doubt to rest.

He had his brothers' backs. He'd managed to clear his mind. He was present, and ready for a fight.

Silently, they moved to their respective positions – Trent, Ray, Brock and Cerb breaking away from the group to where the road curved and he could reach the back of the building easily; and Clay moving in the opposite directing to get a better angle on his target.

"On my mark," Jason's voice came over the radio.

Clay took a steadying breath. Lined up the shot.

"Three, two , one -"

Clay squeezed the trigger and the man by the front entry crumpled, a spray of blood marking the wall behind where his head had been.

"- Execute, execute, execute," Jason commanded.

Six bodies seamlessly leapt into action, converging with frightening speed upon the house, their boots flicking mud and splashing in deepening puddles as the rain came down harder.

Clay covered Sonny and Jason as they breached the front door, and then his team mates disappeared inside. He spun around and scanned the surrounding area through his scope. Found no threats. Expertly split his attention between the entry, the road, and the forest.

Bursts of gunfire came from within the building as his brothers got the job done, clearing rooms one at a time. Clay followed mentally, as they reported their movements over the radio.

Jason and Sonny moved to the upper level, while Ray and Brock stayed below. Gunfire erupted from behind the building, and Trent reported that he'd taken out two squirters, would snap photos and send them through to Davis.

A moment later, Jason's frustrated voice came over the coms, declaring that they'd cleared the upper level, no sign of Hassan.

Ray chimed in, reporting that Cerberus seemed to be picking up something in one of the ground floor rooms, was pawing the floorboards.

Clay's mind skipped back to his first mission with Bravo, when he'd been a strap. "Tunnels," he voiced the thought into his coms.

"On it," Ray replied. And within another couple of beats relayed that a tunnel had indeed been revealed under some removable boards.

Jason and Sonny had made their way to Ray and Brock.

"HAVOC, this is One -" Jason's tone was clipped. "HVT is not in the building. Appears to be some sort of escape tunnel. Dog has a scent. We're pursing."

Clay's heart rate picked up a little. It was never ideal to split the team, but right now they had no choice.

"Copy, Bravo One," came Davis' reply. "Be aware that ISR is still no good. We have limited visibility."

"Copy that." Jason's irritability was evident, even through the crackle of the radio. "Four, Six -" he said, addressing Trent and Clay. "Hold your positions."

"Roger that." Trent.

"Roger," Clay replied, squashing his unease.

The radio fell silent, and for a moment, all Clay could hear was the drum of the heavy rain and his heartbeat in his ears.

And then two things happened in quick succession – a flock of birds erupted from the forest, stealing Clay's attention for a fraction of a second as they screeched into the night, most likely startled by an animal; and a heavy body barreled into his side, sending him sprawling in a splash of mud.

It took him a moment to get his bearings. But a moment was all his attacker needed to kick the rifle from his hands, sending it out of reach.

Clay sprang to his feet, blinking water from his eyes. Dodged the knife blade that came at him, reached for his glock. But his hand was kicked away, the glock falling into the mud. The knife blade flashed again.

His attacker was tall, solid, and had obviously been trained in hand-to-hand. Clay landed a punch to the man's nose, which spurted blood, barely dodged the fist that came at his own jaw. Didn't manage to avoid the kick that swept his legs from under him, sent him to the ground on his back.

There was a scramble, his attacker suddenly on him. A surge of adrenaline had Clay shoving him off, flipping, and madly slipping and sliding through the mud, reaching once again for his glock.

Fingers mercifully curled around his weapon.

In one fluid motion, he turned and pulled the trigger, hitting the tango center belly.

The man went down with a thud, squirming and groaning. Lay on his back with his hands pressing desperately on the wound, crimson pooling through his fingers.

Clay panted, quickly got his knees under him, stood to finish the job.

Locked eyes with the man, finger on the trigger. Noticed the man's hands violently shaking, now shining with blood, and that he was missing the pinky on his left hand.

Clay hesitated.

"Six, you good?" Trent's voice came urgently through the radio. Must have heard the shot.

Clay kept his gun trained on his attacker, who wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Fumbled with his radio, his own hands trembling. "I'm good," he replied, his voice unsteady, out of breath. He held the injured man's gaze. Slowly stepped closer.

The man stared at him, eyes groggy and waterlogged from the rain. But there was recognition there. "Little Boy … Blue?" he said, half choking on the words, blood coating his teeth and seeping from the corner of his mouth.

Clay felt his heart stutter, his breath hitch. What cruel twist of fate was this now? He stepped closer still, gun aimed between the man's eyes – eyes he had known well, once upon a time.

The man coughed wetly. Forced a sad smile. "We meet again, my old friend." His eyes rolled back, He blinked heavily, forced them to refocus. "You became a better man than me, it seems."

Vaguely, Clay realized he was shaking his head. Perhaps in denial. His grip on his glock wavered, loosened slightly. He stalled, scanning his surroundings for further threats. Upon finding none he dropped to his knees. Eyed the gushing wound. Knew there was nothing that could be done.

The man's eyes slipped closed again, just as Jason's voice came over coms.

"Four and Six, what's your status?" His tone was clipped. "Hassan is gone. Tunnel ended in the forest, rain is making it too hard for Cerb to track him. We're heading back to you, then hightailing it to exfil."

Trent reported that he'd had no further contact at the rear of the building. Clay regarded the man before him, fished for his voice - which emerged a lot shakier than he would have liked - reported that he'd had contact at the front, but had handled it.

The radio fell silent once again. Clay refocused on the dying man. They were both drenched from rain, and the puddle surrounding them was reddening.

Clay shook the man's shoulder. "Hey," he said, voice trembling.

The man's eyes opened half-mast.

Clay swallowed jaggedly against the lump in his throat. "You can make this right," he encouraged. "Where's Hassan? Do you know where he could have gone?"

But the eyes regarding him were already glassy, and the life was nearly gone from them. The man's lips moved, and he tried to say something around the blood still spilling from his mouth.

Clay leaned in closer, trying to hear him over the pouring rain.

"Never did … redo that race," came the garbled whisper. And then the brief quirk of a lip, the ghost of a smile. "Watch out … for hogs … my friend."

And with that last word, he was gone.

Clay drew unsteady breaths through his nose, willed his racing heart calm. Let a hand rest on the man's chest for a moment, glanced up at the sky into the falling rain. Felt it wash over his face. Closed his eyes briefly against a memory that threatened to assault him and tear him apart. Regained his balance and composure, and pushed up quickly from the muddy, sodden earth.

A few steps and he snagged his rifle. Had the presence of mind to snap a photo of his deceased attacker. Sent it through to Davis. Bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop it trembling.

He didn't need Davis to identify this particular tango.

He could already fill in that blank.

Forcing his head back into gear, adrenalin pumping through him, he pushed his emotions down as he stood guard by the entry for another handful of minutes, until his brothers re-emerged from the house.

Trent joined them, and they formed a single line, heading quickly back towards the exfil point. Sans HVT.

Heavy frustration enveloped them as they went, and Clay kept his eyes forward - focused on the soft thud of his boots through the undergrowth, his breaths darting irregularly in and out. Resisted the urge to look back towards the house, to dwell on what had just happened. Tried to ignore the nagging stitch in his stomach.

Three-foot world.

Just get to the chopper.

Thump, thump, thump, went his boots.

And his heart drummed in his ears, keeping time.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Sonny clutched his rifle as the chopper lifted off the ground. He was drenched, muddy, sweating, and mad as hell. It felt like a kick in the gut to come all this way only to fail at obtaining their target.

His eyes skipped to Jason who was sitting opposite him, lips pursed and shoulders tense. They were all feeling it. They would go back, regroup. But with no leads, Hassan was in the wind.

Mission failure.

It didn't sit well with any of them.

As much as Sonny wanted to pack this up and head back home, he was as stubborn as his brothers and didn't want to leave Liberia without the man they had come to capture.

His gaze drifted to Clay, who sat sandwiched between Jason and Trent. One argument for not wanting this mission to drag on was his little brother's headspace. He felt that the sooner they put Liberia behind them, the better. He also owed Clay a decent catch up, preferably over (a lot of) beers and pizza, and that wasn't about to happen here.

Sonny narrowed his eyes. Regarded their team's youngest member.

Clay looked washed out, much more than just from the drenching rain and the run back to exfil. His eyes were glassy, skin pale. He seemed to be having trouble holding his head up. His left hand had snaked to press absently under his vest, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated.

Sonny's heart skipped a beat, Hassan and the mission suddenly unimportant as he honed in on Clay's demeanor. "Clay?" He questioned, worry lining his tone, raising his voice over the chopper's noise.

But Clay didn't answer, just pulled his hand from under his vest, knitted his brow and stared at his shaking, crimson palm in obvious confusion.

Sonny's stomach dropped through the floor at the sight. "Clay!"

The younger man tilted, and Sonny launched across the small floorspace to land on his knees, catching him by the shoulders. Bellowed at Trent, who vaulted from his seat and helped lower Clay gently to the metal floor.

There wasn't a lot of space to work, but they managed to get their boy's vest off, which revealed his shirt soaked through with blood.

"The hell?" Jason hissed, concern and shock evident as he also leaned down, stabilizing Clay's head.

But Clay didn't answer. His eyes had drooped closed and they weren't re-opening.

Sonny's mouth felt dry, and his head spun.

No, no, no –

He watched in horror as Trent rushed to assess his unresponsive best friend.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

**Tbc ...**


	3. Chapter 3

**The last episode left me feeling a bit frustrated, for many reasons :/ I'm hoping next week picks me back up! This chapter was a bit of a headache to write. But here it is. Once again, I have very little medical knowledge, and I have bent a few things for the sake of this story. Thanks so much for all your encouraging words, I really appreciate it :)**

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

_Grass whipped at Clay's bare knees as he sprinted. Warm, thick air wet his lungs, and drops of rain hit his face, catching in his lashes._

_Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled. But he paid it no mind. All he was concerned about, in this moment, was making it to the river first._

_Darting around prickly bushes and leaping over uneven patches of ground, he pushed himself on. Ignored his unruly bangs flopping across his brow. Focused on regulating his breathing, focused on propelling himself forward._

_Clay always felt so free when he ran._

_He followed the field along the edge of the forest, keeping his destination in sight._

_Daring to glance over his shoulder, he saw Mulbeh closing in. Faced forward again. Willed his legs faster._

_And that was when he saw the hog._

_Clay realized, too late, that the animal was there. A large male, protecting three sows and a handful of piglets. It startled at the sound of their approach._

_He skidded to a halt._

_Behind him, Mulbeh did the same, nearly bumping into him._

_Clay clutched at his best friend's shirt sleeve, wordlessly gestured at the boar. Began to step very slowly away, inching them both back in the direction they had come._

_Red river hogs weren't usually aggressive – unless they felt threatened or were protecting their young._

_Clay swallowed unevenly, trying to catch his breath from the sprint. For a moment, it appeared the boar was going to go back to its business, and he felt a spark of relief._

_But that spark was quickly snuffed out as it let out a God-awful squeal, put its head down, and began to charge them._

"_Run!" Mulbeh cried, yanking Clay's arm._

_Clay didn't need to be told twice._

_He turned and hurtled through the flicking grass, possibly even faster than before. Didn't dare look over his shoulder until they were clear of the field, across the gravel road, and had vaulted back over the rusty fence._

_Both boys collapsed in the dirt of the school yard, panting and relieved, trying to catch their breath._

_The hog was gone. It may have given up the chase early on, but neither had dared to look._

_The rain began to fall harder, drops splatting in the dirt around them. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time._

_Clay pushed his hair from his eyes, was the first to crack a smile. _

_Mulbeh hesitated a moment. Failed to hold back his grin._

_And then their smiles broke into full-blown fits of laughter, tears leaking, as they allowed their recent fright to give way to humor._

"_You should have seen your face!" Mulbeh snorted, speaking in Kpelle, wiping his eyes._

_Clay shook his head, his cheeks hurting from laugher. "I wasn't scared – you were scared!" He argued, punching his friend playfully in the shoulder._

_They held each other's gaze a moment longer, eyes bright from the adrenaline rush._

"_We'll have to redo our race," Mulbeh announced. "Somewhere else perhaps."_

_Clay agreed, still beaming. "I can outrun you any day," he said teasingly._

_It was Mulbeh's turn to punch him in the shoulder. "You wish, Little Boy Blue. You wish."_

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Sonny startled as Clay mumbled, something about being able to run fast.

The Texan huffed. Patted Clay's arm gently. "Never doubted that, kiddo," he answered wearily.

But Clay didn't say anything more. Remained unconscious, strapped down on the stretcher with an IV stuck in his arm.

Sonny drew a shaky breath, scrubbed a hand over his beard and blinked bleary eyes. He felt like he'd had a good number of years shaved off his life. "Gonna be the death of me," he muttered, eyeing the younger man. "Swear to God."

The chopper ride back to the airfield had been a blur, with Clay bleeding and unconscious on the floor. Everyone caught off guard, in a panic.

Thank God for Trent.

As usual, their boy scout medic had packed everything but the kitchen sink. And although Sonny often gave him shit for it, right now he wanted to kiss the man for being so over-prepared.

He leaned forward on the bench seat of the C-17 where he sat beside Clay's stretcher, elbows on knees. Let his head drop.

The only other time Sonny had ever seen Trent work so quickly, was on that filthy Manila street when Clay had nearly died.

Tonight, Trent had barked orders, remained calm as he'd assessed Clay's wound – which appeared to be a knife slice across the lower belly. It wasn't deep, but it had been bleeding for a while by the time Clay had passed out. Trent had yelled about elevated heart rate, blood pressure crash, and a handful of other things that went over Sonny's head in the rush of the moment. Sonny had watched as Bravo Four expertly started an IV and blood transfusion - despite the chopper's vibrations - and scooped up Clay's legs, propping his feet onto the seat he'd vacated.

All in the space of about four minutes.

Sonny blew out an unsteady breath, clasped his hands to stop them trembling.

Trent deserved a beer.

Hell, Sonny would buy the man a whole case. His quick actions had prevented a relatively minor injury from becoming something major. He'd saved Clay's life.

Sonny cast his eyes to his motionless team mate once more. Clay would be okay. Trent had assured them. The blood transfusion had finished, and his blood pressure had come back up. One more bag of fluids as a precaution. The wound had been cleaned, sealed shut, bandaged up. It would hurt like hell, and would leave a nasty scar. Could have been a hell of a lot worse.

And that's what Sonny's mind was caught on – the fact that it _could_ have been worse.

There was the sound of approaching footsteps. Sonny glanced up to see Davis. She came up beside him, eyes skipping between her two boys. Squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Let her hand linger a moment.

"I said I'd come check on you guys," she explained. "Trent said Clay should be waking up soon. Hopefully."

Sonny huffed, straightened on the bench. Clay was taking his time coming around. "Probably knows he's gonna to get his ear chewed off," he said. "Pulling a stunt like that, not telling us he was hurt."

Davis rolled her eyes, gave him a look. "You heard what Trent said. It was entirely possible that he didn't even realize, what with the adrenaline."

Sonny wasn't buying it. "You tend to notice when someone tries to fillet you."

She shrugged, bumped into him affectionately. "I dunno, plenty of stories of guys who've been injured and not noticed until they were out of the fight."

Sonny considered a moment. Shook his head. Nope. "Still gonna chew his ear off," he grumbled.

Davis let out a small laugh. "No, you wont."

He raised a questioning brow.

She met his eyes levelly. "I've seen how worried you've been about him, since we left home." Folded her arms. "You didn't properly clear things up with him, did you." Statement, not a question.

Sonny sighed. Shoulders slumped slightly. No, he hadn't. He and Clay were as good as they could be. Which wasn't nearly good enough, especially not after Clay's close call. He scratched his beard nervously.

"Sonny?" She questioned gently. Let a beat pass between them. "Something you're not saying?"

Davis was good at reading people. Always had been. Not much got past her.

Sonny leaned back against the cool wall of the plane. Watched the rise and fall of Clay's chest. Found it comforting.

"He'd give his life for me, you know," he found himself saying.

Davis nodded, no reason to doubt that.

"And I'd do the same for him, without question." Sonny let his eyes meet hers. "He's not just my team mate, Lisa. He's my little brother. My best friend."

Her expression softened. She wasn't uncomfortable around vulnerable Sonny. She'd seen enough of that side of him. Welcomed it.

"Keeping our relationship secret has been hard," he continued, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. Pulled in a steadying breath. "And it's been especially hard keeping it from Clay."

Davis considered his words a moment, seemed to chew them over. Eventually nodded slowly.

"It's hurt, not being able to tell him the truth when he's asked whether I'm seeing anyone." Sonny shook his head, recalling all the questions he'd batted away. "Clay's a smart kid, he's known for a while that I have someone spec-" He faltered a moment, feeling suddenly awkward. Took another steadying breath. What the hell, he could say it. "Someone special," he finished, offering a faint smile.

Davis let a smile form as well. Blushed slightly.

Sonny fidgeted nervously. Cleared his throat. Pushed himself away from the moment, tone serious again. "It's hurt him too," he explained, feeling a pang in his gut. "Best friends don't keep secrets, you know. And now he's starting to shut me out and I can't help but feel it's because I haven't been entirely honest with him."

Davis let her gaze rest upon Clay. Chewed her lip.

Sonny knew he was asking a lot of her. They both knew what was at stake if their secret got out.

But this was Clay they were talking about. He trusted his best friend with his life – and he knew if it ever came to it, Davis would as well.

Davis rubbed a hand over her mouth, let it rest there a moment, thinking.

Sonny felt angry butterflies kicking up a storm in his gut.

But eventually she let her hand drop, looked at him with a hint of a smile. Nodded. "If it's important to you that you tell Clay about us, then it's important to me too." Her words were genuine. Honest. Trusting.

Sonny felt a great weight lift from within him.

She squeezed his shoulder again, brushed fingers across his cheek. Tugged on the brim of his cap. "Bros over hoes, right?" Her grin widened.

Sonny straightened his cap, quirked a lip. Regarded her with amusement. "Did you just go and call yourself a hoe?"

She let out a small laugh, shrugged.

Sonny raised a brow. "That's a bit dirty, Ms Davis," he commented under his breath. Gave a cheeky grin.

She winked, returning the cheekiness.

A moment of silence passed between them. As much as Sonny wanted to carry on their flirtation, the reality was that now most definitely wasn't the time.

Davis must have been on the same page, as she expertly swept the moment aside and pulled herself straighter, scrubbing her expression clean and sliding back into work mode.

Sonny followed her lead.

It wasn't hard, given their current situation – Clay injured, and their mission a failure.

Sonny was the one to change the subject. "Any leads on Hassan?"

Thinly veiled frustration settled over her features. She shook her head. "ISR is back up, but it's in and out. We have nothing from when he should have come out of that tunnel, no idea where he could have gone from there." She folded her arms. Rocked slightly, agitated. "For all we know he could be a thousand miles away. We have eyes on the airports and roads in and out of the country, as well as the port – but we can't be looking everywhere at once."

Sonny picked up on her defeat.

"Hey," he offered, extending a hand. "No one knew about the tunnel."

Davis eyed his hand. Took it and squeezed it. Didn't look convinced. "It's my job, Sonny. I should have known."

He considered. Dismissed the comment. "Say you did know about the tunnels," he continued. "You couldn't have known that ISR would go down, that the weather would go to shit and interfere."

She held his hand a moment longer. Still didn't look convinced. Let it drop. "I should go back," she stated, changing the subject. "Jason was arguing with Blackburn when I left, debating whether to scrap the mission, head home." She sighed heavily. "I think Jason feels guilty about what happened to Clay. Mentioned something about wishing he'd had closer tabs on him."

Sonny should have argued against that, but he couldn't deny that he felt just a tiny bit pissed at his team leader. When Jason had allocated Clay front security back in Clay-Ashland, Sonny hadn't been happy. But on the flip side, he'd also seen the reasoning. Less chance of Clay winding up in trouble if he was just standing guard.

Or so they'd thought.

"You'd better head back," he agreed, albeit reluctantly. "Tell Trent Clay's not awake yet."

Davis eyed the young man in question. Stepped up to the stretcher. Gently rubbed Clay's knee. Then she turned back to Sonny, gave a tired smile.

"Mightn't be a bad thing," she said quietly. "If we head back, I mean." Dipped her head towards Clay. "I get the impression it hasn't been easy on him, being here."

Sonny had to agree with her there. Shrugged. "You win some, you lose some," he stated. "Perhaps Hassan is one for another day."

Davis scrubbed heavy eyes. Yawned. "Not up to me to decide." Her shoulders sagged slightly.

Sonny leaned forward again, scrubbed his own tired eyes. Glanced at his watch.

Five AM.

If they were going to pull the pin on this, he hoped they did it soon. At least then they could all get some sleep.

Davis silently moved off, her footsteps loud in the quiet plane.

Sonny regarded Clay once again. "Not you, Goldilocks," he said, voicing his thoughts aloud. "You've had enough sleep." He stood, moved to the stretcher. Checked Clay over – for possibly the thousandth time since Trent had ordered him to keep watch. "Time to wake up, my friend." He gently took Clay's hand, gave it a slight squeeze. "Rise and shine."

_Please_.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay slowly drifted back to consciousness, felt someone squeeze his hand.

He hovered, right below the surface, between reality and dreams. Took stock of sensations. Tried to piece together where he was – and whether he actually wanted to open his eyes or not. Felt a sting across his lower belly, a slight ache.

He cracked his eyelids open to slits, saw the IV line. Let out an internal groan. Debated slipping beneath the surface again.

But there was a squeeze on his hand again. Someone must have noticed he was stirring, wasn't going to leave him alone.

He tried to focus on the jigsaw puzzle in his mind, put it back together. He'd been on a mission, had been in a fight, had been fine one minute, bleeding the next. It was all a bit fuzzy.

His mind backtracked, snagged on the memory of the fight.

_Mulbeh_.

His heart sank, stomach clenched uncomfortably.

In the moment before everything had gone black, in the chopper, he'd vaguely realized that he mustn't have managed to dodge the knife blade as well as he'd thought.

He opened his eyes a little further, recognized the familiar surrounds of the C-17.

Couldn't be that bad if he was here, and not in a hospital.

Clay reflected upon what he knew of Liberian hospitals. Scrap that. Trent probably wouldn't have allowed him near one even if he'd been on death's door. Just because he was in the plane, didn't mean he was okay.

"Well, well," a familiar voice met his ears. "Looky here who's decided to wake up."

Sonny.

"About freakin time, Bam Bam. My ass is numb from sitting here watching you sleep."

Clay opened his eyes the rest of the way, took a moment to focus on his brother's face – which was hovering awfully close. Scrunched his expression at the sight. "Tempted to go back to sleep," he grumbled, voice raspy. "Instead of stare at your ugly mug."

There was a scoff. "You should feel privileged."

Clay groaned, tried to sit. Disagreed. "I feel … violated."

Another scoff. A shove back onto the uncomfortable mattress. "Whoa there, sunshine. Not so fast." The hand stayed on his shoulder, keeping him down. "Your tank nearly hit rock bottom. I'm under strict orders to make sure you stay put while Trent finishes filling you back up." Sonny nodded to the IV, expression serious.

Clay let out a defeated breath. Didn't try to sit up again. Let his eyes slip closed.

"Oh no you don't." A pinch on his arm.

"Ow!" Clay's eyes shot open and he scowled at Sonny.

The Texan shook his head. Pinched again. "No more sleeping."

"Fucking stop that," Clay protested, trying to move his arm away. Realized he was strapped down. Felt even more annoyed.

"Thought you were awake earlier," Sonny admitted. "You said something in your sleep, about running."

Clay regarded his best friend. Mind skipped back to the dream he'd had.

Not a dream – a memory. Of a best friend from long ago, and a race that they never did redo.

A best friend who had been as close as a brother.

A best friend who Clay had recently killed.

Grief gripped him. He felt his eyes prick, squeezed them closed to hide the emotion from Sonny.

Even though it was obvious that Mulbeh had made some bad choices, Clay knew how desperate things could be here, and desperate people did desperate things …

"Clay?" Sonny's voice was gentle. No more teasing.

Clay sighed, not in the mood for a lecture. He cut Sonny off, supplying what he thought was the answer to the question he guessed his brother was about to ask. "I didn't realize I was bleeding," he said, voice still raspy. "If I had, I would have said something."

Sonny regarded him levelly. Nodded slowly. Seemed to want to argue, but accepted the explanation. "Scared the absolute shit out of us," he said eventually.

Clay heard the raw honesty in the admission. Felt bad. Held Sonny's gaze. "I'm sorry," he offered. And he meant it. As annoyed as he'd been at his best friend, he hadn't wanted to cause this kind of trouble.

Sonny brushed him off. Squeezed his arm. "All good, brother," he said quietly. "Nothing to apologize for."

Clay swallowed jaggedly. His mind was clearing. After a moment he asked, "Hassan?"

Sonny sighed, shook his head. "No leads," he replied. Blew out a frustrated breath. "As if it's not bad enough, having your gut sliced. Seems it might have been for nothing."

Clay closed his eyes again, mind refocusing on the ache in his gut. Thought about Mulbeh. Tried not to focus on the ache in his heart.

He'd known the attacker had been his friend, the moment he'd seen that his left pinky was missing. Recalled asking once, years ago, as they'd been sitting on the school steps in Kelemassa Town, waiting for Clay's grandfather to pick them up. Mulbeh had laughed, eyes bright, made up some wild story about a crocodile biting it off. It wasn't until much later that Clay had found out from his grandfather that Mulbeh's father, in a moment of drunken rage, had chopped it off. The story had made him feel physically sick. He'd never told Mulbeh that he'd discovered the truth. Had decided to play along with his friend's crocodile story instead.

Mulbeh had been a good friend. It had hurt to leave him behind when Clay had decided to return to the States. And now it hurt even more, knowing that his road had led him to dark places. It seemed unfathomably cruel that he'd died by Clay's own hand. But then, Clay was learning that more often than not, life was anything but fair.

"The guys are with Davis and Blackburn," Sonny explained. "Brainstorming and combing through the satellite feed that we do have. But so far, nada."

Clay was half listening. Quirked a lip. "And you're stuck here watching my sorry ass."

"Someone had to," came the reply. I wasn't a complaint.

Clay let his thoughts drift away from his current best friend, back to his former. Thought about the memory-dream he'd had. Thought about the river hogs.

_Watch out for hogs, my friend_.

Sonny said something, but Clay didn't hear. Was suddenly too focused on the unfinished race he'd had with Mulbeh years ago. His dying friend had brought it up when Clay had asked him if he'd known where Hassan was heading. At the time he'd thought it was random. But what if it wasn't?

Clay attempted to push against the straps. "Help me up," he demanded, tone urgent.

Sonny appeared caught off guard by Clay's sudden change in demeanor. Confused. Denied the request. "No way," he stated. "Trent would have my head. I'm under strict instructions to make sure that bag of fluids is finished before I tell him to come check you over."

Clay wasn't having a bar of that. Pushed harder against the straps. "Come on, man," he argued. "This is important."

Sonny narrowed his eyes. "If you need to piss, I'll get a bottle. I don't want to be on the receiving end of Trent's wrath if I let you up."

Clay rolled his eyes. "Since when do you fear Trent?"

"I owe him," came the explanation. "Man saved you from bleeding out. I'm damned well gonna do what he says right now."

Clay closed his eyes briefly. Swallowed his frustration. He would have to thank Trent at some point. This was the second time their medic had saved his life. But right now, he really needed to get off this stretcher.

"Sonny," he said, willing his voice calm. "I need to get up. I need to check something." He speared the Texan with a look. "There's a slim chance I might be able to help locate Hassan."

Slim. A gut feeling at best. But worth looking into.

Sonny must have caught the seriousness in Clay's tone. He shifted gears, muttered a string of curses. Paused. Muttered more curses, before he reluctantly undid the straps.

Gingerly, Clay sat upright with Sonny's help. The cut in his belly pulled, but he could move without feeling like he was going to puke or pass out. He waited a moment, let his head stop spinning, and then swung his legs over the side.

"For the record," Sonny stated as Clay balanced on the edge. "I think this is a terrible idea."

Clay grit his teeth. "Noted, thank you," he bit out. Swallowed the sharp pains as he shuffled forward to slide off the stretcher.

Feet landing on the floor and gaining his balance, he went to remove the IV.

Sonny quickly slapped his hand away. "Oh, hell no," he chided. "IV stays in." Reaching up, he unhooked the bag of fluid from its pole before Clay could protest.

Clay begrudgingly closed his fingers around it as it was shoved into his hand. It had about one third to go. He huffed, but didn't argue further. Took a moment to lift the hem of his shirt, glance down at his bandaged waist, prod the wound. The pain was bearable - although he imagined he was dosed up to take the edge off.

Sonny eyed him, looking entirely unimpressed. Muttered more curses. Pulled Clay's arm over his shoulder and steadied his younger brother, snaked an arm around his middle, mindful of the wound. "I hope," he stated, as they began moving in the direction of the ramp, "that this is worth it." He shot a look at Clay. "For your sake, I mean."

Clay swallowed roughly against a wave of light-headedness. Squashed it down.

"You're in for an earful, as it is." Sonny speared him with a look.

Clay had no doubt about that. But the feeling in his gut was niggling, had latched on and wasn't letting go. He needed to look into it.

And, if it actually amounted to something, then it would be worth the lecture.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason and Blackburn were locked in heated discussion when Sonny and Clay entered the stuffy shipping container that was being used as their operations center.

Ray was playing peace keeper, as usual, trying to talk Jason down.

Davis was sat at one of many laptops, hunched over and massaging temples.

Brock was scrunched in a corner, yawning and scrubbing bleary eyes.

And Trent was inching towards the door, as if trying to escape.

Sonny cleared his throat.

The medic whirled, startled. Caught sight of Clay. Immediately let out a string of profanities that had Jason and Blackburn falling silent and casting looks their way.

Trent was livid. "What the hell are you doing upright?" He demanded at their youngest man. Speared Sonny with a withering look.

Sonny held up a hand to keep him at bay.

Jason shouldered his way closer, narrowed eyes at Clay.

Clay did his best to ignore the pounding in his head, the pain in his belly. The short walk to the hanger had taken it out of him. Pulled himself straighter. Held up the bag of fluids for Trent to see - as if still being attached to it justified his actions.

"How are you feeling?" Jason cut in anxiously, before Trent could protest further.

Clay caught genuine concern in his team leader's tone. Felt guilty once again for being the cause of that concern. "I'm okay," he semi-lied.

Jason nodded, but didn't seem to completely buy it. "Gave us quite a scare," he stated, words stiff. "Next time you get sliced up, don't leave it until we're on the chopper to tell us you're bleeding. Got it?"

Clay heard the gentle warning. Was grateful it wasn't a full-blown lecture. Looked around at his brothers' faces, at Blackburn and Davis – they all looked spent. "Copy that," he agreed quietly, leaning a little more heavily on Sonny. Did his best to disguise the action.

"Good," Jason gave a clipped nod. Glanced accusingly at Sonny, back to Clay. "Now, why the hell are you wandering around instead of staying horizontal?"

Trent was still muttering curses. Had grabbed onto Clay's wrist, focused on counting beats.

Davis appeared with a chair.

"Sit your ass down," Trent demanded, fingers still against Clay's pulse point.

Clay obediently sat. Managed to stifle a wince as the movement pulled his cut. Tried to ignore the anger radiating off their medic. "I, uh -" he started. Realized he would have to choose his words carefully to avoid unwelcome questions. "I had an idea where Hassan might have gone, after the tunnels."

That had everyone's attention.

Blackburn raised a brow, glanced at Jason.

Clay pressed on. "The guy who knifed me -"

_Who happened to be my childhood best friend._

"He didn't die straight away after I shot him."

_Because I didn't kill him once I realized who he was_.

"I put my gun on him and demanded to know where Hassan had gone, once I heard you'd lost him in the tunnels."

_I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger._

Clay swallowed jaggedly, recalling the devastation he'd felt as he'd stood there in the pouring rain not even five hours earlier. Pulled in a steadying breath. Desperately tried to keep his expression neutral so as not to betray his true emotions.

"I think he said something about Kelemassa Town," he lied. "I didn't quite catch all of what he said before he died, but I know it's upriver from Clay-Ashland." He paused, glancing between Jason and Blackburn. "Hassan could have gone there by boat, after the tunnels."

Davis was already back at the laptop, clicking away. "We've gone through all the images we have, from the hour or two after he disappeared," she explained. "But what we have is like a smashed-up puzzle with half the pieces missing – to say it's an incomplete picture is an understatement."

Blackburn moved behind her, leaned over her shoulder. "Let's take a closer look at Kelemassa Town then," he suggested, entertaining Clay's suggestion.

Jason leaned against a table, eyes still on Clay. Rubbed his stubble.

Clay held his team leader's gaze.

"Why didn't you say something, at the time?"

Clay felt his jaw stiffen. Disguised his discomfort at the question. Offered another lie in response. "I didn't think much of it," he replied. "His words were jumbled. He spoke in Kpelle, didn't make much sense. But recalling it now, I think he said Kelemassa Town." He swallowed unevenly, mouth suddenly dry. "It's a bit of a long shot," he admitted. "But I thought it was worth mentioning, just in case."

Jason thought on it, gave a clipped nod. Seemed satisfied.

Clay felt a small amount of relief. He didn't want to let on that he'd known his attacker, for fear that he would be pulled from going after Hassan if they did get a location. Jason had seemed to doubt his mindset before the mission – he would definitely bench Clay, if he knew the full story now.

Clay's eyes skipped to Trent, who was holding the bag of fluids up so that it would drain properly – still looked pissed. Getting Trent's okay to go after their target would be his biggest challenge. But he was determined to argue his case. The wound wasn't that deep. He'd operated with worse injuries. He could dose up on painkillers.

Clay set his jaw, felt determination smolder within him. This mission had become more than personal. He wanted Hassan to be brought to justice. He wanted so badly to believe that Mulbeh had tried to do the right thing, in his dying moment. Clay was pinning all his hope on the gut feeling that his friend had had a change of heart, had decided to help him. He wanted to return the favor by allowing Mulbeh this final act of redemption. And for that, he couldn't be sidelined.

Davis and Blackburn began chatting animatedly, clicking through images.

Jason shuffled over to them. "Anything?"

Blackburn straightened, shot a look at Clay.

"It's not solid," Davis explained, addressing all of them. She swung the screen around, zoomed in on an image. "But this was from about one hour after the tunnels." She pointed at a section of river, and what appeared to be a very small boat. The image was blurry. "This is just near Kelemassa Town. Not many people would be on the water in the middle of the night."

Clay's heart skipped a beat.

Davis clicked through to another image, zoomed in once again. It showed the same boat, now at the shore. Click, click, click - another image of the town. She frowned at the screen. Zoomed in on a building not far from the river. Raised a brow. "This building here," she said. "Looks like your average house. This is not long after the boat appeared." She clicked again. "Now look at this, half an hour later."

Jason blew out a breath, blinking at the screen and glancing at Ray, who was also leaning in.

Three vehicles had appeared in front of the building between the first image and the second.

"That's a lot of visitors to have in the middle of the night," Ray stated, raised a brow.

Clay tried to steady his breathing, will his heart to slow down. Tried to ignore the fact his palms were sweating.

It appeared that Mulbeh had indeed given them a clue as to where Hassan would go.

"It's not much to go on," Blackburn said soberly. "But it's better than what we've had." Nodded at Clay. "Good work, Spenser."

Sonny squeezed Clay's shoulder.

Clay hoped that his best friend wouldn't notice his slight trembling.

Davis was clicking through more images. Let a small smile ghost her lips. "From what I can see, nothing has changed between then and now. No one has left."

"He might be laying low, planning his next move," Ray speculated.

Jason chewed his lip. "Yeah, well, chances are he wont stick around for long. He knows we're onto him."

Clay felt Trent prod him, push him back in the chair slightly. He let the medic lift his shirt, check his wound. Locked his jaw and plastered a stoic look upon his face, determined not to flinch.

"We'll watch the house, keep an eye on anyone who might come or go," Blackburn decided. Directed his words at Davis, "If we catch any sight of Hassan trying to leave, we go in."

Davis nodded, set her eyes on the screen.

"We don't know for sure that he's there," Jason argued, skepticism seeping through his tone.

Blackburn drew a deep breath, held Jason's gaze. Agreed. "Let's watch and wait," he suggested. Eyed the rest of the team. "You gentlemen go and get some rest. If anything happens, you'll be the first to know. In the meantime, I'm going to make some calls."

"Someone has to come out of that house at some point," Davis muttered. "With any luck, we might be able to ID them and link them to Hassan."

"If ISR doesn't drop out again," Jason grumbled, rubbed a hand over tired eyes.

"Go get some rest," Blackburn repeated, nodding towards the door. "If we get anything solid, I'll let you know. If Hassan is there, you'll need your energy."

Jason didn't argue, but also didn't look entirely convinced. Waved an arm at the rest of the guys. "You heard the man," he muttered. "Let's go get some sleep."

Trent finished checking Clay's wound, seemed satisfied.

Clay caught his wrist as he straightened, locked eyes. Nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Trent gave a stiff nod in return. "Just glad you're okay," he replied. "Could've been a hell of a lot worse. Wish you'd said something _before_ you passed out."

Clay felt his cheeks flush slightly. Felt genuine guilt. "I'm sorry, man," he said. "I honestly didn't realize."

Trent blew out a breath. Patted Clay's shoulder. Didn't reply, but Clay got the impression he believed him.

Clay felt grateful. Decided to push his luck. "I'm good to go after Hassan, if we get a lead." He raised his voice so that Jason heard as well.

Trent began to protest.

Clay cut him off. Pushed to his feet to prove his point. "Wound's not that bad," he lied. Set his jaw, pulled his shoulders straighter.

Jason glanced at Trent.

The medic shook his head firmly. "Nope. No way. You need to rest."

Clay felt a spark fire up within him. He needed to see this mission through. Needed to be a part of bringing Hassan in. He shook his head, irritably. "I've rested already," he protested. "I'll rest more, if that keeps you happy. But I'm coming if we go back out."

Clay knew his brothers were familiar with his stubbornness. Sonny had pointed it out many times. He wasn't backing down.

"Quit being an idiot, Bam Bam," the Texan grumbled.

Clay speared him with a glare.

Jason chewed his lip, blew out a frustrated breath. Looked obviously tired and not in the mood for an argument. "How about this," he said, holding up a hand to silence both Trent and Clay as they opened their mouths to speak at the same time. Levelled Clay with a look. "You make it back to the plane without Sonny's help, don't pass out or puke, and actually go and get some sleep – I'll think about it."

Clay bit down on his bottom lip, worked his jaw. Realized it was the best he was going to get right now. Agreed.

Trent muttered some more curses, detached the line from the now empty bag of fluids. None-too-gently removed the canula from Clay's arm.

Clay scowled. Accepted the tissue Trent handed him and pressed it against the pearl of blood forming, ignored the ache in his vein.

"Let's get out of here," Jason grumbled, making for the door.

Brock, who had remained silent, pushed up from the floor. Wavered. Tilted his head back and yawned. Squeezed Clay's shoulder as he passed, following Jason and Ray.

Trent shot Clay one last glare, before stalking off.

"For the record," Sonny said, once the medic was out of earshot. "I think that you're a terrible liar, and that you're not in any state to be going anywhere."

Clay huffed. Perhaps Sonny was right. But there was no way he'd sit idle if his brothers were kicking in doors.

Sonny extended a hand, offering to help Clay walk.

But Clay shook him off.

"Okay, okay," Sonny muttered, throwing up his hands. "Be stubborn. See if I care."

Clay found his balance. Swallowed down the aching sting across his waist.

"Just don't expect me to carry your ass to exfil if we end up going out and you keel over half way through," Sonny groused.

Clay ignored him. "Not gonna happen," he said defiantly. "And besides -" He stepped from the shipping container, managed to disguise his unsteadiness. "You'll want me there to keep an eye out for hogs."

That got Sonny's attention. He followed close behind. "Say what now?"

"Red river hogs," Clay clarified. "It's the start of their breeding season. They can be aggressive."

Sonny huffed, but his expression betrayed a hint of apprehension. "You're full of fun facts, you know that?"

Clay quirked a lip, feeling a memory slam into him.

Hesitated.

Decided to share it.

He cleared his throat. "When I lived with my grandparents," he started, trying to keep his voice steady as his wound throbbed. "We didn't have a TV. There wasn't a whole lot to do in my spare time." He took a slow breath, recalled the musty room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the worn rug on the floor where he would lay on his stomach for hours, leafing through book after book. "But they owned a lot of books. Had the entire Encyclopedia Britannica."

Sonny let out a snort. "Don't tell me," he said, grinning. "You read the whole fucking thing."

Clay nodded. Yes. Yes, he did. "At least a few times over," he admitted, letting out a small laugh at the way his best friend shook his head.

"Explains so much," Sonny muttered, amused. "You're such a closet nerd."

"Nothing wrong with exercising the brain," Clay argued. "Obviously a foreign concept to you."

"My brain works just fine," Sonny retorted.

Clay let his grin linger, kept pushing onwards towards the C-17 and his hammock. Tried not to worry about how much it might hurt laying down in the damned thing.

Even though he and Sonny hadn't had a proper chance to sit and talk, he at least felt like some of the tension had dissipated between them. A small amount of their usual banter was back. The world felt slightly more balanced again.

He was still upset by Sonny's lack of trust, but once they were home they could hopefully mend what had been broken over pizza and beer. It had been too long since they'd had a date night - a good, honest talk. And right now, Clay felt it was needed more than ever.

They made it to the plane. Walked slowly up the ramp. If Sonny noticed Clay gritting his teeth against his nagging discomfort, the Texan didn't comment. Just gently herded the younger man inside.

Sunrise was staining the horizon. The humid air was heavy in their lungs, already oppressive even before the day had properly begun.

"Come on Blondie," Sonny encouraged. "Let's get you to bed."

Clay took a moment to catch his breath. Swallowed back against a moment of lightheadedness.

"Perhaps after a bit of sleep," his brother continued, "you might come to your senses, and realize that heading back into a fight – if there's even one to be had – is a God-awful idea."

Clay didn't reply. Knew Sonny was probably right. But also recognized that it was something he had to do to bring some closure for Mulbeh's death.

His gut once again clenched at the memory of his friend. He couldn't change what had happened, but he could take down the man who'd been partially responsible.

Revenge was rarely the answer, but sometimes, in this line of work, it was all they had.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay lay in his hammock for a long time, trying, but failing to sleep.

The air in the plane was stuffy, suffocating. The curve of the hammock, which was usually comforting, pulled on his cut. He didn't argue when Trent came by, patting his leg and handing him his next dose of painkillers.

Trent quirked an eyebrow, seemingly troubled at Clay's willingness to take the medication without usual protests. Clamped his mouth shut, didn't say anything. Shook his head slightly as he moved off.

Clay felt the painkillers kick in, welcomed their fuzziness. Finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

And he dreamed …

_He was in a room, timber floorboards creaking under his feet as he rapidly approached a closed door._

_Sonny stood to his right, expression set in concentration, tac gear on._

_Clay's heart raced. He willed his breathing steady as Sonny reached for the door handle. Pointed his rifle ready to meet whoever might be on the other side. Eyes caught briefly on a spider as it scuttled up the wall beside the door frame to his left. _

_Three, two, one –_

_Sonny threw the door open._

_Clay had only a fraction of a second to register the man with an s-vest standing on the other side. A moment of sickening déjà vu. Attempted to turn, barrel Sonny out of the way, just as he'd done with Jason in Serbia._

_But there was no time._

_With a deafening blast, the bomb went off. And he and Sonny were thrown back like ragdolls, blown apart._

_Dead._

_End game._

_Darkness..._

Clay jerked awake, gasping.

Sonny was standing over him, hand on his shoulder, shaking it gently.

Alive.

"Wake up, sunshine," the Texan stated. "We've got a positive ID from the house in Kelemassa Town, one of Hassan's known associates. It's go-time. Unless you've wised up and want to stay here."

Clay shook him off, pulled himself upright. Ignored the protesting sting and ache from his gut. Did his best to disguise his shaking.

It was just a dream, he told himself, glancing around. Swallowed jaggedly, tendrils of fear slowly releasing their hold on his heart.

He was breathing. Sonny was breathing. It was just a damned dream.

"I'm good," he lied, swinging his legs over the side and brushing off Sonny's obvious concern.

The feeling of the bomb blast had been so real. The finality of it so frightening.

Just a dream, he repeated, pushing upright, finding his balance. Probably the painkillers messing with his head.

Felt his stomach roll, unease tingling through his trembling limbs.

Just a dream.

And yet, it had felt so terrifyingly real.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

**So I know that really Clay would have probably been a lot worse off, physically, but for the sake of this fic I need him semi-mobile. For now ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks so much again everyone for your encouragement with this story! Here's the next part. Once again, all mistakes are mine. **

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay was surprised to see that it was late afternoon. The others had been awake for some time, but they'd let Clay keep sleeping - which he felt equal parts frustration and gratitude for.

He made his way stiffly from the plane towards the hanger, following Sonny – who kept shooting him worried glances, as if assessing how steady he actually was on his feet. Clay brushed the concern aside, swallowed his aches and pains. The last of the day's light was glinting off puddles, hinting at a recent downpour. Clay cast his eyes skyward, noticing the billowing clouds clearing. With any luck, they would dodge further downpours tonight.

He sat uncomfortably through the briefing. Bit down on his tongue every time his cut pulled. Subtly tested his range of movement - deemed it to be satisfactory. He knew he could push through. Determination always won over physical discomfort. He kept reminding himself that he'd finished missions with far worse injuries.

Davis had managed to get a positive ID on a man who had emerged from the building a few hours earlier. Intel had linked him to Hassan. It was enough to justify going in.

They would take a forty-minute van ride to a point just south of Kelemassa Town, and then travel on foot the rest of the way, get a closer look at the house from the ground. Hassan would be on guard, on high alert after the events of the previous evening. They couldn't risk bringing a chopper in this time, in case it spooked him. The chopper would swoop in to an exfil point not far from the house, once they had bagged their target.

And they most definitely would bag their target, this time around.

Everyone was on edge, desperate for things to go smoothly. So far ISR was holding steady, but as they knew all too well, anything could happen between now and then.

Ordered to grab something to eat and drink, gear up and be ready to roll in one hour, they split off in different directions. Sonny snagged Clay's sleeve as they exited the shipping container, attempted once more to talk him out of coming.

But Clay shook him off, explaining that six guns were better than five. They had already failed at obtaining their target the first time around - they couldn't afford to be a man down now.

Sonny didn't look happy. But there was a hint of understanding resting just beneath the surface of his expression, betraying that he would most likely do the same, should the roles be reversed.

The hour passed quickly. Clay finished adjusting his gear, checked he had everything, and made his way out to their transport with the others.

Trent had reassessed his cut, made sure it was tightly bandaged. Given the okay – albeit reluctantly. His exact words were, "Just because it should be okay, doesn't mean it will be okay. There's a very real chance you'll make it worse. For the record, I think you're a complete idiot."

Clay had laughed, clapped his team mate on the shoulder. Ignored the muttered exasperation. But he'd noticed Trent throw some extra supplies into his med kit - and had silently felt grateful.

The van that would serve as their means of transport was a little battered, to say the least.

Sonny stood back from it in mock offense, demanded to know which scrap heap they'd dredged it up from. And if it would even make it beyond the tarmac.

The rear double doors creaked as they were pulled open. The entire vehicle shuddered as Ray turned the key in the ignition.

A puff of smoke erupted from the exhaust, which left Brock coughing and choking, pulling Cerberus out of the way.

The wheel arches were rusty, and the undercarriage looked like it had banged along one too many potholes.

"The fuck is this piece of junk?" Sonny again.

Jason stood staring at it, eyed Blackburn. Remained silent.

Clay quirked his lip, shot a look at their angry Texan. "If it was shiny and new, we'd stick out like a sore thumb," he stated. "This is the standard around here."

Blackburn nodded, hands on hips. "The idea is to blend in. This was the best we could do at short notice. Rest assured, it's been checked by a mechanic. Nothing wrong with the engine."

"Oh, great," Sonny muttered sarcastically, throwing up an arm. "The sides and wheels will fall off, but at least the engine will keep chugging."

Clay rolled his eyes.

"Let's go," Jason ordered, silencing Sonny with a look and nodding at the truck. "It's just our transport to the target – not our getaway vehicle."

"Good luck gentlemen," Blackburn said as they began to pile in, Sonny still grumbling.

Having the darkest features, Ray and Brock sat up front. The others, including Cerberus, climbed in the back where there were no windows.

Jason stopped Clay just before they entered, turned him so that they were facing each other. Levelled him with a no-bullshit look.

Clay pulled himself straighter, set his jaw. Met his team leader's eyes.

"I've operated with many guys who've been injured on a mission, and who've then wanted to continue on. Get back at whoever tried to take them out. They get this look about them, a determination. A drive that pushes them past their usual limits." He narrowed his eyes at Clay, assessing. Furrowed his brow. Waited a beat – enough to make Clay feel slightly uncomfortable. Eventually shook his head. "You don't have that look."

Clay swallowed jaggedly.

"And I'm not exactly sure why that is," the older man continued. Folded his arms. Didn't break eye contact. "But it's bothering me, and I need you to be one hundred percent honest right now, you hear me?"

Clay gave a clipped nod, kept emotion from his features. Pursed his lips.

"Now I don't need to know details," Jason said, voice lowered. "But I do need you to tell me – did something happen last night in Clay-Ashland, that changed your perception of this mission?"

Clay wanted so badly to brush off Jason's question, swallow the answer. But his team leader was waiting expectantly for his reply, and Clay suspected that Jason already knew the answer. His mouth was dry, tongue thick. He squeezed his eyes closed briefly. Took a steadying breath.

Nodded slowly.

Waited for the fallout.

But Jason just stood there, regarding him. Eventually looked away for a moment. Then set his gaze on Clay once again. "Okay," he said quietly, considering.

Clay braced himself to be sidelined.

But Jason didn't order him to remain behind. Instead he said, "Now I need you to ask yourself honestly, are you okay to come with us tonight?"

Clay opened his mouth to answer, but Jason cut him off.

"Because a good team leader would put their team's safety before their own personal vendetta. I don't need to remind you what the stakes are here. I need you to ask yourself – are you currently an asset, or a liability?"

The words hit Clay hard. He understood the gravity and truth in them. He took another steadying breath, let it out slowly. Met Jason's gaze without flinching.

"I'm good," he stated. And he did truly believe that. He'd taken painkillers, his cut was manageable. "Injury isn't compromising my ability to operate right now."

Jason quirked a lip, shook his head slightly. "Wasn't asking about your physical injury," he clarified.

Clay managed to appear unfazed. Held his ground.

"See," Jason said, stepping a little closer, his words for Clay's ears only. "Davis did some digging on the guy who knifed you, and it turns out he grew up in Kelemassa Town, had links to your grandparents' mission."

Clay felt his heart rate increase slightly.

"Turns out he had help with his education, and even managed to further his studies in Monrovia once he finished school – thanks to his advanced English." Jason paused, let his words sink in.

Clay was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the weather.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that you knew him," the older man said. His tone wasn't angry – nor was it exactly forgiving. "I don't know how, exactly, you got him to tell you about Hassan's possible location. But knowing these guys and how they operate, I find it very difficult to believe he gave up that information simply because you had a gun on him."

Clay blinked rapidly, eyes darting away for a moment. Focused on a white bird cartwheeling against the darkening sky.

Jason reached out and squeezed his shoulder, grip firm. "I'm gonna go further out on that limb," he said soberly, "and guess that you were friends with him, once upon a time."

Damn, Jason was good. Clay had to give the man credit for that. He bit his lip, so hard that it hurt. Jerked half a nod. Couldn't seem to find his words.

Jason blew out a slow breath. Glanced pointedly at the van. "I'm gonna ask you one last time, and you'd better be damned sure of you answer," he said firmly. "Are you, or are you not, able to participate further in this operation?"

Clay knew that the safe answer was no. But there was something within him, something that wasn't revenge-seeking, or a result of his grief at killing Mulbeh. Something that just couldn't let his brothers head off without him when he felt that he could effectively back them up.

Another handful of beats passed. Clay gathered himself, squared his shoulders, set his expression. Wiped his emotions. "I'm good," he stated, voice unwavering.

Jason held his gaze a moment longer, expression indecipherable. Accepted the answer and nodded in return. "Okay," he said, raising his voice slightly. Licked his lips. Clapped Clay's shoulder. "Let's do this then. Get your ass in the van."

Clay didn't need to be told twice.

"We good?" Ray called back from the driver's seat, once they were all aboard and seated on the parallel benches in the back of the van, facing each other.

Jason leaned to grab one of the rear doors, pulled it closed with a creak and a slam. Sonny grabbed the other.

There were two taps on the side of the vehicle, and Blackburn's voice from outside. "God speed, gents."

Clay leaned back against the bench seat, gut aching with the movement. Hands shaking.

Ray stepped on the gas.

Zero suspension and bouncing despite the level tarmac – Clay let out an internal groan. Caught Sonny's unimpressed look as the vehicle rattled and squeaked.

It was going to be a long forty minutes.

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The van ride was as uncomfortable as Clay had expected. It was stuffy and warm. He spent the majority of the time gritting his teeth against all the bumps and jolts, feeling the ache in his gut increase with every pothole.

He did his best to avoid Jason's gaze. Felt uneasy that his team leader had joined the dots between him and Mulbeh. Didn't know exactly how much Jason knew, but hoped there wouldn't be any more questions.

Clay hated feeling vulnerable. He would rather offer up small, controlled pieces of information regarding his personal life, to a select few trusted individuals. Even though he trusted Jason, and his team leader was well within his rights to ask the questions he had, the discomfort remained. Clay had been determined not to let anyone peek inside his box of childhood memories. But it seemed that a few things had already slipped out, and it was too late to stuff them back in.

Swallowing down conflicting emotions, Clay leaned back and closed his eyes.

They had been on the road for about twenty minutes. Despite not being able to see outside, Clay could picture where they were, knew these roads like the back of his hand. It was a mental map he hadn't accessed in a while, but it remained surprisingly clear.

Aside from the bone-rattling jolts, the journey had so far been uneventful.

It caught them by surprise when Ray suddenly cursed, swerved. A muffled clunk was heard at the back.

Clay managed to hold onto his seat.

Sonny hadn't been so lucky. Swore loudly as Ray steered them straight again. Picked himself up from the van's floor, clambering awkwardly back onto the bench.

Jason staggered forward, pulled aside the small curtain that separated the front from the back. "The hell was that?"

Ray gripped the steering wheel, cast an apologetic look behind him. "Clipped a dog," he explained tightly.

Brock sat stiffly, peering into the side mirror. "Feels wrong to leave it," he said, tone betraying his emotions. Turned in his seat, eyes flicking back to Cerb.

Jason let out a breath. "Sucks for the dog," he stated. Patted Brock's shoulder. "But we can't stop. You know that. Unfortunately, a dog's life isn't worth compromising this mission for."

Brock knew that. They all knew that.

"Would draw attention, if we stopped," Clay found himself saying.

Eyes turned to him.

"Locals," Clay clarified, "they wouldn't stop."

Cerb whined quietly.

Jason stumbled back to his seat opposite Clay.

Clay didn't meet his team leader's gaze. Just stared at a patch of floor, gritting his teeth against a rather nasty pothole that sent a jolt of pain through him. Found his thoughts snagging on a memory of playing out the front of his grandparent's house - kicking a ball against the fence, the feeling of gravel stuck in his socks as he'd scuffed the hot dirt.

His gaze had caught on a black and white cat, sauntering across the dusty road. The sound of a rapidly approaching vehicle had met his ears, and he'd watched in horror as the car had clipped the cat, sending it under the back wheel.

Clay had felt ill, rushed from the yard through the squeaky mesh gate. He'd stopped by the cat, horrified to see it was still alive. Eyes flicking in the direction of the car, he'd noticed the vehicle's brake lights illuminate as it slowed down. A teenage boy stuck his head out the window, stared back blankly – seemingly more interested in Clay standing in the middle of the road, than the animal they had hit.

Clay wanted to call out, demand they come help. But the stranger had disappeared back inside the vehicle, and it sped off on its way, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

Clay had stood, trembling, staring at the little life fading before him. Its body was bloody and mangled. There was no way it would survive.

He'd swallowed jaggedly, torn between wanting to move away from the distressing scene, but not being able to bring himself to leave the animal to die alone. Absently, he'd prayed that God would show mercy and end its suffering. He'd felt hot tears form in his eyes, a painful lump in his throat.

Another few moments had passed.

Finally, he'd watched the cat take its last, small breath.

He'd ran back inside, thrown himself on his bed in tears. His grandmother had found him, wrapped him in her comforting arms. Talked him through what he'd seen. They'd gone back out to the road together, scooped up the dead cat, and buried it in the yard. Clay had made a little cross to stick in the tiny grave.

There were a lot of stray animals in Liberia. People rarely treated them with respect. He'd seen skin-and-bones dogs being beaten and chased with sticks, hit and kicked. Dead dogs and cats by the side of the road - animals that he was used to seeing as pets, loved and looked after. Here they were pests, often tick and flea-ridden. Scavenging for whatever they could find.

The image of the dead cat outside his grandparents' house had stuck with him for a long time. Even now, as Clay recalled it, he remembered the depth of his sadness and how rattled he'd felt.

How many lives had he since seen extinguished?

How many had he been responsible for ending?

Mulbeh had been the last.

Clay's stomach knotted. Breath suddenly caught in his throat.

He told himself he was doing good, protecting innocent people from the worst of the worst. But was he? Really? Or was he just like the people in the car all those years ago, the ones who'd hit the cat? Cold and unflinching, barely batting an eyelid when he stole someone's last breath. He told himself he was ridding the world of monsters, but sometimes he found himself wondering - was the true monster actually him?

Clay's thoughts skipped back to Mulbeh – the boy who had shown him the meaning of true friendship, who had helped him find his place here when he'd felt so upside-down and horribly alone. The other kids had taken a while to warm up to him because he'd been a stranger, had looked different. But Mulbeh hadn't been bothered by any of that. Clay recalled his childhood best friend stating that he'd never in his life seen anyone with such bright blue eyes. From the day they had met, to the day they'd said goodbye - Mulbeh had called him Little Boy Blue.

Clay closed his eyes briefly. Counted breaths. Opened eyes and blinked them clear, shaking off the memories, and the ache in his heart.

Across from him, Jason and Sonny shot him alternating glances, as if keeping tabs. And although Clay couldn't see it, he felt Trent doing the same from where he sat on the bench seat to his right. Even Cerberus looked around every now and then, from where he was sat by Trent's feet – the medic holding the back of his vest - checking in.

Clay thought about his team mates. His brothers. They were all like Mulbeh, in a way. Friends who had met him at a time when he'd felt alone and upside-down. Friends who had shown him the true meaning of family.

His eyes settled on Sonny. He thought about their bond, and how fragile it had felt lately. He needed to fix it. Clay realized that he was lucky to be able to call the gruff Texan his best friend. Men like Sonny Quinn were rare, and Clay wasn't about to let their friendship dissolve any time soon. Perhaps, when this was all over, and they were having that long overdue catch up they'd been talking about, Clay might let his brother peek into his box of childhood memories.

Perhaps share a few stories.

Perhaps.

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The rest of the van ride passed by without incident. Ray pulled them off the main road and onto a dirt track that edged close to a patch of dense forest. Unlike many of the desert areas they'd operated, the vegetation here provided handy cover. And in the dark of night, with the undergrowth around them, they were as close to invisible as they could get.

The van would be collected later by a few members of their support team. They had concealed it as best they could. Crouching low, running single file with NODs in place and rifles clutched, they made their way through the inky shadows towards the western side of Hassan's location.

Once they reached their destination, Clay took a position beside Sonny, shaking a tendril of vine lose as it snagged his sleeve. He took a moment to catch his breath, listening to the chorus of crickets and frogs coming from the river bank not too far off.

"HAVOC, this is One," Jason spoke quietly into his comms. "Passing Wentworth. Target building in sight."

Clay breathed against this throbbing gut. Squeezed his eyes closed a moment, rose above the discomfort.

"Copy that Bravo One," came Blackburn's reply. "ISR holding steady. No movement outside the building. Your path is clear for now."

"Copy," Jason said. "Stand by."

"Standing by."

Clay peered across the small dirt road to the house in question. The windows were dark, many boarded up. A few vehicles parked at the front. Davis had managed to acquire a floorplan of the building – from where, Clay had no idea. The woman was amazing. They'd studied it and given each room a number, conscious of the possibility that there could be hidden escape tunnels.

"Right," Jason said, grabbing everyone's attention. "Just like we agreed. Brock, you're on me - we go through the back. Clay, you're with Sonny, through the front. Trent, front security. Ray, you watch the rear. Got it?"

"Check," Clay replied, alongside his brothers, shifted his grip on his rifle. Glanced at Sonny, who returned the look with a nod.

"Let's go get this asshole," Jason whispered. "Get in position. Wait for my mark."

Six bodies and one dog shifted silently through the vegetation, Clay sticking close behind Sonny, with Trent on his heels.

"Group One in position," Jason's voice came through their comms a moment later.

"Group Two in position," Sonny echoed.

Clay felt his wound twinge as he crouched. Stubbornly ignored it, drew a shaky breath.

"HAVOC, this is One," Jason reported. "About to make entry."

"Copy that, One," Blackburn replied. "Clear view from our end."

Clay tightened his grip on his rifle. Honed his focus to the task at hand. Grounded himself in the moment. Felt grateful that despite the oppressive humidity, the night was clear. Shot a quick glance upwards. Caught sight of a few stars twinkling. Tried not to think about the growing number of friends and family who were up there, looking down on him.

"On my mark -" Jason's voice grabbed his attention.

Clay clenched his jaw.

"Three, two, one – "

Hassan wasn't getting away this time.

"Execute, execute, execute."

Clay sprang forward alongside his brothers, aching wound forgotten as he quickly closed the distance to the house.

Trent dropped back, covering their approach.

Sonny glanced briefly at Clay. Slammed his boot into the door, kicking it in.

In one fluid motion, they rushed inside.

Clay's heart pounded in his ears. He effortlessly took out the first guy who popped through a doorway. Sonny took out the second. They could hear their brothers doing the same in the back of the house.

Yelling. Gunfire.

"Rooms one and two clear," Clay reported, a little breathlessly, following Sonny along the hallway to room three. Their boots caused the uneven floorboards to creak as they went. Everything smelled of mildew.

"Room five clear." Jason.

More gunshots.

"Room six clear." Brock.

Gunfire erupted outside.

Clay followed Sonny as they rushed into room three. Took out two tangoes. Felt uneasy that they hadn't yet come across Hassan. The house wasn't that big. They were quickly running out of rooms.

"Room three clear," Sonny reported, frustration evident.

Each team had one more room left to check.

Clay and Sonny's final room was accessible through a door just off their current location. Moving together, they swiftly approached.

"Room seven clear." Jason relayed, sounding like he spoke through clenched teeth. "Hassan is a no-show this end. Three, Six - tell me you have him."

Clay's heart picked up speed. If Hassan wasn't behind this door, then they had failed. Again.

Sonny glanced at him as they flanked the doorway, nodded.

Time to find out.

Clay set his jaw, gripped his rifle. Thought of Mulbeh. Letting Hassan get away was absolutely not an option.

A spider scuttling up the wall to Clay's left stole his attention.

For a brief, sickening moment, time stood still.

Clay's stomach fell through his feet. Ice shot through his veins and his mouth was suddenly dry. Confusion barreled him, as he grappled with the realization that he'd seen this all before.

Sonny hadn't noticed his team mate falter. "Three, two, one- "

_No no no –_

Without another thought, Clay pitched himself at Sonny, just as the Texan threw the door open. He grabbed his friend around the middle and hurled them both back as far as he could, out of the way.

There was a deafening explosion.

A rush of scorching hot air and debris blasted them, accelerating their awkward dive for cover.

Clay felt the impact; a jarring, pain-filled, breath-stealing crash into the now splinter-covered floor boards.

His head smashed into the ground, sending him catapulting into sudden darkness.

_End game…_

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**Thanks for reading :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks so much everyone for sticking with me so far! And for your comments and encouragement. Sorry for the evil cliffy at the end of last chapter ;) It's been a rough few days and I'm most definitely lacking in sleep. All mistakes here are mine. Thanks so much again for reading x**

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Sonny didn't black out.

He felt Clay cannon into him, felt the rush and heat of the blast. Felt the air driven out of his lungs as he slammed into the ground – splinters and debris raining around him, ears ringing through sudden wads of cotton wool. His head in a fish bowl.

At least, that's what the immediate aftermath felt like.

Muffled noise, heart pounding against his temples, his own gasping breaths.

Stunned, he blinked towards the ceiling, noticing bits of dust and what appeared to be scorched paper swirling above him, fluttering towards the ground. In another setting, it might have been beautiful.

But not here. Not now.

Reality slammed back into him.

Oh God, Clay –

Feeling bile rise in his throat, he rolled to his left, flipped onto his stomach. Clawed his way up onto elbows - where he stopped for a moment, panting and squeezing his eyes closed against the sudden spin of the room.

Gritting his teeth, he swung his gaze until it landed on his brother, barely two feet away.

"Clay-" He rasped. Began to drag himself towards his unmoving team mate. "Clay-" He managed to find his voice, louder and more urgent this time.

Clay was face down, unmoving, one arm outstretched towards Sonny.

Sonny grabbed at the limp hand, desperate for some type of contact. He couldn't seem to ground himself, and the room wouldn't stay still.

A hand landed on his shoulder. Jason was suddenly in his face.

He lost his grip on Clay.

Sonny blinked at his team leader. Saw Jason's mouth move but couldn't seem to register the words being said. "Clay- " He said again, tone pleading, trying to look around Jason to have his boy back in his sight.

Clay wasn't waking up.

Trent was there, was gently rolling Clay onto his back with Brock's help, carefully removing their youngest man's helmet and vest.

Jason's hands were now either side of Sonny's face, trying to get his attention. Commanding him to focus.

Ray was in the background, relaying information back to HAVOC. Something about an s-vest. Something about Hassan. Something about a photo.

Sonny couldn't give a damn. All he cared about, in this moment, was that Clay's eyes were closed, and Trent had a sense of urgency about him and a grim look plastered on his face; when normally their medic was calm and unflappable.

Sonny felt bile rise again. Felt his stomach roll and head pound even harder. He pushed away from Jason, getting his knees under him. Ignored Trent's orders to stay where he was. Pushed closer to Clay, desperately needing to see for himself that his little brother was still alive.

"Sonny," Jason said firmly, trying to pull him back. "Let Trent work."

Sonny shook him off. Sought Trent's eyes. "How bad?" The words fell from his lips.

Trent had a finger to Clay's pulse point, was measuring heartbeat and breaths.

Brock had Clay's shirt bunched up, was putting pressure on the knife wound. It had reopened, blood seeping through the bandage.

Trent didn't answer straight away. Flicked on a penlight and shone it into each of Clay's eyes. Inspected a bleeding wound tucked up along Clay's hairline. Grabbed a wad of gauze and asked Jason to hold it firmly against Clay's bloody forehead. Set about checking Clay's arms, legs, ribs, stomach.

Sonny held his breath.

When Trent finished, he met Sonny's gaze. "Nasty concussion," he stated flatly. "I wont know how bad until he's checked further." His gaze darted to Jason. "We need to get him out of here."

Jason nodded stiffly. Called over his shoulder to Ray. "How's our exfil looking?"

Ray stepped closer, glanced worriedly at Clay. "Chopper's en route, seven mikes out."

"We gotta move," Jason stated. "Don't want to be hanging around here longer than we have to anyway."

"Gonna have to carry him," Trent said, taping a fresh bandage to Clay's waist. "Over the shoulder not an option."

Brock snatched up Clay's gear.

"Between two of us?" Jason asked. Allowed Trent to tape down the gauze on Clay's forehead.

The medic shook his head. "Can't have his head sagging forward, flopping around. Need to keep it still as much as we can."

"I'll carry him." Sonny did his best to stand, found it tricky not to wobble.

Trent pushed to his feet, closed the distance between them.

Sonny tried unsuccessfully to bat him away as the medic reached out a hand to steady him.

"What hurts?" Trent's tone was no-nonsense, gave him a quick once-over.

Sonny shook himself free from the sudden, glaring penlight in his eyes, irritably dismissed the question. "I'm fine." He stepped closer to Clay. "Kid's not that heavy. I can take him."

Jason remained crouched beside Clay's head. Glanced at Sonny. Shook his head. "You can barely walk straight," he commented. Then, in a gentler tone, added, "Go with Trent. I've got Clay."

Sonny didn't like that idea. Pushed against Trent as his team mate snaked an arm around his waist, tried to get him moving. Felt distress well up within him.

"Hey," Trent said gently. "Come on, man. Jason's right. He'll take care of Clay. We've gotta go."

Sonny faltered. Wavered. Watched as Jason gently scooped Clay into his arms and stood with a barely stifled grunt, tilted Clay so that the younger man's head rested against his shoulder.

"Come on," Jason said, finding his balance and stepping carefully over debris, following Brock towards the door. "Best thing you can do for Clay right now is get your ass to that chopper. The quicker we get him out of here, the quicker we can help him."

Sonny swallowed jaggedly, knowing Jason was right. Felt his stomach roll as he watched Clay's limp arm dangle, swinging slightly with their team leader's movement as Jason turned sideways to get them through the doorway.

Trent once again tried to get him moving. This time Sonny didn't fight it. Willed his legs into action, staggered forwards, following the others.

Just before they exited the room, Sonny paused and cast a look over his shoulder.

The door to room four was blown out, doorway now a gaping black hole bordered by shattered wood. The room beyond was in worse shape than the one they'd been in – part of the wall now open to the night.

Holy hell.

Sonny had had a few close calls in his time as an operator.

This was up there with the closest.

How Clay had reacted so quickly, he had no idea. He had barely cracked the door when Clay had thrown them both out of the way.

And to think that he'd tried to convince his pain-in-the-ass little brother to sit this one out.

Sonny shuddered, felt his hairs stand on end and stomach clench.

If he had, he most definitely would have been heading home in a box.

"Come on, man," Trent urged, pulling him gently.

Sonny turned away from the scene, focused on the task at hand. Did his best to get his legs to work without stumbling.

All that mattered now was getting to the chopper, getting the hell out of this place, and getting Clay safe.

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The chopper swooped in to the prearranged exfil point for them. Thankfully it wasn't too far from the house.

The blades thump-thump-thumped through the otherwise still night, ramping up Sonny's headache.

Locals were waking up, a few faces peering cautiously from a nearby house as they ran to towards the helo. Probably the most action the town had seen in a long time, Sonny imagined.

Trent kept him moving forward, pulling him upright the few times he stumbled.

Sonny's NODs had been broken in the blast, and he felt blind in the darkness. He blinked ahead, seeing his brothers silhouetted against the light from the chopper. Saw Jason's outline. Watched as Clay's limp form was lifted aboard. Willed his legs faster.

Once also finally on board, Trent helped him lower himself to his seat. Sonny caught the medic's arm, squeezed briefly, grateful.

Trent nodded. Quickly dropped to his knees and set about reassessing Clay, who was laid out on the tight floorspace between the seats.

Brock and Ray sat opposite, with Cerb on Brock's lap to make space. Jason knelt by Clay's legs, a hand on each one, holding their boy steady against the chopper's movements as they lifted into the night.

Sonny's eyes were locked on his best friend. He sought the rise and fall of Clay's chest – felt distressed that it was near impossible to make out in the dim. Kept searching anyway. Watched Trent check Clay's wounds, flick a light in his eyes again, put pressure against his forehead.

Sonny's heart and head competed for which could pound the hardest.

Jason radioed through to Blackburn, gave an update of their situation. Sonny overheard him say that Trent wanted to get Clay to a hospital, have his head looked at properly. He swallowed jaggedly, knowing that if Trent was willing to risk a local hospital, then Clay probably wasn't doing so well.

The worry was amplified when Clay suddenly woke, coughing and gagging.

Trent quickly rolled him to his side, held him there as Clay retched and vomited. Again. And again. And again. Until he passed out once more.

Sonny willed himself calm, swallowed his rising panic. Sought any reassurance from Trent.

But their medic was too busy checking Clay's vitals, calling for Jason to shift Clay further onto his side in case he vomited again.

Sonny willed Clay to wake, but the younger man remained unconscious. He wanted so badly to reach down, squeeze Clay's shoulder reassuringly – have his brother wake up and tell him not to worry, everything was fine.

But no such thing was happening.

Sonny kept his eyes on Clay the rest of the way to the airfield, barely blinking.

When they arrived, Blackburn and Davis ran to meet them. A few of the support personnel were there with a stretcher.

Ray, Brock and Cerb jumped down onto the tarmac, ducking as they cleared the slowing rotors.

Jason followed, turned to help Sonny. "Sonny, let's go." He held out a hand.

Sonny hesitated another moment, unable to tear his gaze from Clay. Eventually met his team leader's eyes. Looked past him and saw Davis. Felt emotion rush through him.

Jason grabbed his forearm, helped him down.

Sonny moved away from the chopper, towards Davis. Felt tears well. Swallowed them down.

She must have noticed his fragility because she grabbed his shoulder, squeezed firmly.

He felt like she was an anchor in a storm. The touch grounded him. He wanted so badly to wrap his arms around her and have her do the same. But they both knew they couldn't risk such a display of affection. Part of him wanted to say fuck it. But the small, rational part of his brain that was still functioning, held him back.

Clay was laid on the stretcher, rushed towards a waiting vehicle – another van, thankfully in better shape than the last one.

Sonny jogged after the stretcher, bypassing Trent and climbing aboard. Caught Jason's gaze. Dared his team leader to order him out.

Trent must have caught on, because he looked between Sonny and Jason. A flicker of understanding passed over his features. "Not a bad idea, Sonny comes along. He can be checked over properly."

Jason bit his lip, appeared too tired to argue. Let it go and climbed aboard, saluting the others back on the tarmac. "Call when I can."

"Take care of our boy," Brock called back, Cerb whining at his side, pulling the leash.

Davis shot a look at Sonny, a mixture of compassion and concern.

He nodded back at her. He couldn't leave Clay, especially not after tonight. She understood that.

"Go, go," Jason called to their driver – one of their support guys.

Trent leaned down from his seat, checking Clay's wounds with a flashlight. Both had stopped bleeding, at least.

Sonny regarded his pale, far-too-small-looking little brother, strapped onto the collapsed stretcher. Dammit he looked so young. Just a kid. Just like he'd done that dreadful night in Manila.

Moments like these threatened to undo Sonny completely, had him questioning if all this was really worth it. Gritting his teeth, he set his jaw and steadied his breathing. Pushed down the screaming fear that Clay's head wound was a serious brain injury. Prayed that their rookie would recognize them all once he finally woke up.

If he woke up.

No.

Sonny batted the frightening worry away.

Clay would wake up.

The alternative wasn't an option.

He set his eyes on his unconscious brother, willing him to be okay. Staring intensely as if he could send strength through his gaze.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

The hospital wasn't great – nor was it as bad as Sonny had imagined. He followed Jason and Trent as they hurriedly wheeled Clay through the double doors of the depressing concrete building.

The smell of disinfectant assaulted them as they rushed to the triage desk. There were a few others in the waiting room, and wary glances were cast their way.

They had stripped off their tac gear, wore no military clothing. Dog tags were tucked away. But even still, they were obvious foreigners. They brought an air of tension to the room.

Trent did most of the talking, and before long, they were ushered through some more double doors, down a corridor and into a small room.

Sonny got the feeling that the hospital staff wanted to send them back on their way as soon as possible.

Sonny was ordered to sit up on a bench, allow a doctor to check him over, while Trent went with Clay and another doctor - rattling off medical bits and pieces that Sonny absolutely did not understand. Something about a CT scan, bleeding on the brain, skull fractures. None of it was reassuring.

Once the doctor was satisfied that Sonny only had some minor cuts and bruises, and no concussion of his own, he left the room to tend to other patients, explaining that Sonny and Jason could remain there to wait for their friends.

Sonny lifted an eyebrow as the doctor hurried from the room. The man barely offered a backwards glance.

"Get the feeling we're not welcome here?" He said to Jason, who remained standing, pacing by the door.

Jason paused, scrubbed a hand over his mouth, glanced in the direction the doctor had gone. Nodded in agreement. "As soon as Clay's done and Trent's happy, we're out of here."

Sonny wasn't sure what was bothering the staff the most – the fact that they were foreigners, or the fact that after a challenging couple of days, they weren't exactly looking like the friendliest bunch of men.

"Here," Jason said, reaching into his pocket and extending a closed fist to Sonny.

Sonny furrowed his brow. Held out a hand.

Jason dropped what he held into Sonny's palm.

Clay's dog tags.

"Couldn't risk leaving them on him," Jason explained. "Keep them safe. Give them back to Clay when we're back and he's awake."

Sonny stared at the tags. Curled his fingers around them. Nodded, and tucked them into his own pocket. He didn't miss the offered reassurance in Jason's tone. Felt grateful.

"He'll be okay," Jason said, half to Sonny, half to himself.

Sonny nodded stiffly. Yeah. Clay would. "Got a hard head," he muttered, trying for humor. Failing. "That mop of hair probably cushioned some of the blow anyways."

Jason huffed, quirked a lip. But the worry lines remained around his eyes.

Sonny took a shaky breath, leaned back in the uncomfortable chair he'd dropped into. Nope, too uncomfortable. Leaned forward, elbows on knees. Let his tired eyes fall to a spot on the scuffed floor.

"He saved my ass, you know," he found himself saying.

Jason listened. Didn't reply.

"I didn't even see the bomb." Sonny shook his head, recalling the moment. "No idea how he saw it, but he threw us both out of the way." His stomach dipped. "No way we would be here, if he hadn't."

Jason considered a moment, paused his pacing. Leaned against the door frame, arms folded. "Two for two," he muttered. "Twice he's saved someone from an s-vest recently."

Sonny chewed his lip. Glanced at Jason, recalling their team leader's close call in Serbia. Pretended not to notice Jason's slightly haunted expression.

Sonny let his gaze drop away. Cleared his throat. Clasped his hands to stop them shaking. "I, uh," he started. "I didn't ask about Hassan." In the chaos of the night, he'd only just realized that he had no idea what the status of their HVT was.

Jason pushed off from the door frame. Resumed his pacing. "Dead," he said, simply.

Sonny raised a brow.

Jason shot him a glance. "S-vest. Hassan was the one who nearly took you guys out."

Sonny felt a small amount of relief. But was confused how Jason could be sure. It was pretty hard to identify someone when they were blown apart.

Jason must have read his thoughts, because he said, "Bomb didn't obliterate all of him."

Sonny pulled a face.

"His head was partially intact," Jason continued. "Ray snapped a photo, sent it through to Davis. Hassan had some unique scars on his cheeks."

Sonny felt sorry for Ray, imagining the grizzly scene. They saw some pretty horrendous things in their line of work, but it never got any easier.

At the end of the day, Hassan had tried to kill him and his closest friend. The bastard could rot in hell, as far as Sonny was concerned.

Sonny's thoughts drifted. The events of the last few days were catching up to him, threatening to take him down. He ran fingers over his eyes, massaging his temples. "I've done a bang-up job of looking out for Clay, haven't I."

Jason stopped pacing again. Released a breath that saw his shoulders slump. Shook his head. "You didn't do anything wrong. If you want to blame anyone, blame me. His head wasn't right from the get-go. I should have listened to my gut and benched him."

Sonny rubbed his eyes some more, until he saw stars. Blinked them clear. "If you had, I probably wouldn't be here right now."

Jason considered. Couldn't argue. Sighed. Plopped down in the chair beside Sonny, seeming defeated.

A few beats of silence passed between them.

"Do me a favor, would you?" Jason said, after a while.

Sonny let out a small laugh. "Little reluctant to do you any more favors."

Jason glanced at him. Bit his lip. "Talk to Clay," he said, after a moment. And then he clarified. "This mission hasn't been easy on him. He could use a friend."

Sonny noted Jason's concern. Felt slightly caught off guard. "Anything in particular I should know about?"

Jason hesitated before answering. "Just talk to him." He patted Sonny's knee. Squeezed a tight smile. Offered no further information.

Sonny didn't push. Just nodded in return. "Was already planning to," he admitted. Felt his stomach turn.

Clay had to be okay. He had to wake up. There were things between them that Sonny needed to mend - trust that had to be un-broken.

"Thanks," Jason said quietly.

Anxious silence settled once more between them.

The clock on the wall could be heard ticking, muffled voices out in the corridor.

Sonny disappeared into his own thoughts.

Beside him, Jason seemed to do the same.

Sonny shoved his hands absently into his pockets. Fingers on his right hand hit Clay's dog tags, and he pulled them against his palm, squeezing tight.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

The noisy clock on the wall told Sonny that he and Jason had waited about forty-five minutes for Trent to return with Clay.

When their medic leaned through the doorway, the first thing Sonny noticed was that some of the worry had lifted from his features.

"He's going to be okay," Trent quickly told them. "CT showed no bleeding on the brain, no skull fractures."

Sonny felt a great weight lift from within him.

Jason blew out a breath. Clasped his hands atop his head, leaned back.

They quickly got to their feet, stepping out of the room.

Clay was still unconscious, still strapped on the stretcher, an IV now in his arm and a bag of fluids halfway done.

"They offered to keep him," Trent explained, releasing the stretcher's brake and motioning them down the corridor in the direction of the exit. "I politely declined. Explained we could take it from here."

"Let me guess," Jason said, helping to steer them along faster. "They didn't argue."

Trent quirked a lip. "They seemed relieved, to be honest."

"Yeah, well, no offense to these doctors," Sonny said. "But I trust you a whole lot more than I trust them."

They pushed their way through the double doors that led to the waiting room. Nodded their thanks to the triage nurse – who didn't meet their eyes – and hurriedly continued on out of the building, back into the muggy night.

Trent regarded Clay, gently brushed unruly curls away from the bandage now around Clay's head. "I feel better, now that I know he just needs rest."

"And probably a shit load of painkillers," Sonny added.

Trent agreed grimly. "Yeah. That too."

Their transport pulled up, and they hastily loaded Clay into the back.

Sonny climbed in, paused by Clay's shoulder, gave it a light squeeze. Lingered just one more moment before taking his seat.

"He can't fly," Trent stated, as the van pulled away from the hospital. "Probably a few days at the minimum. Could even be a week."

Jason set his jaw. Gave a clipped nod. "Then none of us fly," he replied.

Sonny couldn't agree more.

The airfield was less than ideal, and sleeping in the C-17 wasn't exactly comfortable. But they would hang around for as long as it took for Clay to be cleared to travel.

It went without saying that none of them would ever entertain the thought of leaving one of their brothers behind.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

The others were waiting for them back at the airfield.

Clay woke briefly as they wheeled him onto the plane. Vomited a few times. Attempted to answer Trent's questions, but was still incoherent.

Sonny grabbed Clay's hand, squeezed it. Reassured Clay they were all there, that he was safe.

Little brother's eyes were unfocused, but there was recognition there - and that was enough for Sonny. For now.

Clay's eyes dropped closed again.

"Right," Blackburn said, eyeing them all sternly. "Time to get some rest. We'll debrief properly once you've all had some sleep."

Sonny disguised his unsteadiness by planting his ass on the bench beside Clay's stretcher. "I'm good right here," he stated, earning a look from their commander.

"Hammocks would be preferable," Blackburn added.

Sonny leaned back, shut his eyes. He wasn't moving.

"Sonny," Davis said gently. Eyed him.

But Sonny cracked an eye, stared her down defiantly.

She sighed. Rolled her eyes. Slipped him a concerned glance when no one was looking.

He shook it off.

Trent checked Clay over again. Added some anti-nausea medication to the IV.

"We'll take turns checking on Clay. Two hour shifts." Jason nodded at their medic. "You need to get some rest too, Trent."

Trent didn't look convinced. He could be as stubborn as Sonny, sometimes.

"Go," Sonny told him. "I've got first watch. I'll yell if I need you."

Trent lingered a moment by the stretcher, eventually nodded, giving in.

Sonny watched as each of his brothers gave one last look at Clay, as if to reassure themselves that their boy was indeed alright, before wearily heading off towards their hammocks.

Davis and Blackburn disappeared, and Sonny was left in the relative quiet of the plane. Warm night air blew in from the direction of the ramp. The distant sound of plane engines could be heard, reminding him that they were in a corner of Monrovia's main airport, not a proper military base.

He let out a long, shaky breath, allowing some of the night's tension to release from his body. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was feeling every ache and pain. Clay had managed a fine tackle tonight, he'd give him that. The kid would have made a good football player, in another life.

Clay's face was turned towards him, eyes still frustratingly closed. Lashes twitching slightly, perhaps dreaming. No new blood had seeped through his head bandage, and Trent had checked his knife wound earlier.

"You've really been through the ringer on this one, haven't you Bam Bam," Sonny muttered.

Clay twitched, moved slightly.

Sonny pushed up from the bench, moved to the side of the stretcher.

Clay's eyelids opened slightly, revealing a glassy but steady gaze.

Sonny grabbed for the emesis bag, ready for another round of vomit.

But Clay just blinked slowly. Moved his lips, attempted to say something.

Sonny leaned in closer, placing a gentle hand on Clay's shoulder to prevent him for trying to sit up. "Take it easy," he said quietly, despite his desire for his brother to do just that – shake it off, laugh at him for worrying.

Clay tried again to talk. Finally found his words. "What'd I miss?" He rasped. Blinked heavily.

Sonny felt relieved to hear at least something coherent come out of his mouth. "Oh, ya know," he replied, his own voice faltering slightly, eyes prickling. "I owe you about a thousand cases of beer."

Clay seemed to think over the words. Eyes drooped closed. Heaved open again. With what appeared to be considerable effort, he squeezed a small smile.

Sonny let a nervous laugh escape, leaned heavily on the side of the stretcher. Dropped his gaze briefly to the floor. Returned the smile.

Clay gingerly raised a hand, tried to probe at the bandage around his forehead.

Sonny grabbed his wrist, tsk-tsk'd. Guided it back down to the mattress. "Nasty concussion," he explained. "You're okay. Leave it be."

Clay looked like he had more questions, but was struggling to keep his eyes open.

Sonny could see him visibly fighting against his falling eyelids. Squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Go back to sleep," he offered. "There'll be plenty of time to talk once your head's cleared. Guys are all here. Everyone's safe."

Clay stared at him for a moment through slit eyes, as if searching for any sign that Sonny wasn't telling the truth. Eventually took a shaky breath, let his eyelids fall the rest of the way closed.

Sonny lingered by the stretcher for another few moments, before backing up to the bench and letting his legs fold, ass plop down. Some of the anxiety he'd been harboring since the explosion began to dissolve.

Clay would be alright. He felt guilty for having doubted Trent's word. But now that he'd seen Clay wake up - partially alert, not heaving uncontrollably – he felt a lot better.

Unfortunately, the parts of his brain that had been so focused on worrying, now focused on how damned tired and sore he was. The bench seat was ridiculously hard on his bruised backside. And his back protested when he tried to lean against the wall.

Davis appearing right at that moment was a blessing.

Sonny blinked wearily up at her as she stood to his right, her glance traveling between him and the stretcher.

"I feel like we were just here," she sighed.

Sonny drew a long breath. Yep. Not even twenty-four hours earlier. Exact same spot, with Clay sprawled out on the exact same stretcher.

She lowered herself tiredly to the bench beside him, edging close. Gave his arm a gentle rub.

Sonny glanced at her fingers on his sleeve. Noticed them trembling slightly. Looked into her eyes and saw that they glinted, betraying held-back tears. Realized that she must have been terrified in the moment between the explosion and being told that he and Clay weren't blown apart.

"Hey," he said tenderly, catching her gaze. "I'm okay."

She pursed her lips. Blinked her eyes rapidly, looking briefly up to the ceiling.

Sonny checked quickly to see that no one was looking. Pulled her into a strong hug. Felt her take a trembling breath, work to steady herself.

Eventually she pulled back, nodded slowly. "Thank God," she whispered.

Sonny let his hands linger on her shoulders, watched her expression to make sure she believed him. Felt guilty for having scared her. Swallowed roughly. "Thank Clay," he said soberly, nodding towards his sleeping team mate. "If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here right now."

Davis took one of Sonny's hands, squeezed. Moved away from his touch. Looked once more between him and Clay.

"You should get some sleep," she said eventually. Quirked a lip. "You look like shit."

Sonny huffed, not doubting it. "I'll wait til one of the guys comes to take over. I'm good for now." He wasn't quite ready to let Clay out of his sight just yet.

She nodded, understanding.

Sonny ignored his protesting back and leaned against the side of the plane, trying to find a comfortable spot. He could doze sitting up. He'd done it before, in much worse positions and places.

Davis stood, stretched. Stepped over to the stretcher. Regarded Clay. Brushed a wayward curl from his brow. Leaned down, kissed him gently on the forehead.

Sonny watched through one cracked eyelid. Raised a brow.

She gave a slight smile. "For saving your ass," she explained. Her words were light, but the gravity of what she was saying wasn't lost.

Sonny let silence linger between them. He couldn't argue with that.

Every mission they went on, he and his brothers had each other's backs - no questions asked. It was their job, it's what they did. But Sonny had never had a brother take a bullet – or, in this case, the brunt of an explosion – for him. It felt off-balance. A debt he couldn't easily pay back. And he wasn't sure what to do with the emotions it had churned inside of him. Add in the fact that it was his best friend…

"Get some rest," Davis said again, shooting him a stern look.

Sonny let his eyes fall closed the rest of the way. Twitched a smile. "Yes ma'am," he muttered.

But he knew that sleep wasn't going to come easily.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

**This fic was originally going to be 5 chapters, but it looks like it'll be 6. Nearly there :) **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks so much everyone for sticking with me and for all your encouragement with this fic. Here's the final chapter. All mistakes are mine. Thanks so much for reading :)**

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Clay didn't remember much from the first couple of days after the bomb blast.

He spent most of it on his back, laid upon the uncomfortable stretcher, being pumped full of painkillers and floating in and out of sleep. He had no idea of the time of day, how long he'd been stuck there. The only constant was his brothers. Every time he opened his eyes, one of them was sitting by him – a pat on the leg, a squeeze on his shoulder.

Ever-present.

Day three he was coherent enough to have half-conversations. Though he tired easily, and his stomach still rolled with occasional nausea.

Day four he was sitting up for short periods, able to eat small bites of food. Keep enough fluid down that he no longer needed the help of antiemetics.

Day five he was feeling well enough for restlessness to set in, for the narrow space of the C-17 to feel suffocating. He began to complain that he was bored, asked to go for a walk to the bottom of the plane's ramp. Argued with Trent when the medic said no.

Went anyway.

Only half regretted it.

He started telling his team mates that they should fly home without him. Felt frustrated (secretly relieved) when they promptly ignored him. His brothers made up obvious lies about enjoying their unplanned Monrovian holiday. Clay called bullshit. And tried not to laugh when Sonny stated that they should spend lengthy amounts of time hanging out at third world airfields more often.

Day six was when he really felt like he turned the corner. His pounding headache receded slightly, as did the room's spinning. The ringing in his ears lessened, and sounds became clearer. He was able to walk slowly around the plane, albeit a little wobbly. He managed not to tumble descending or ascending the ramp. And most importantly, he was able to shower without too much help.

He hurt a little less. Felt slightly more human.

Day seven, Trent checked him over and finally deemed him well enough to fly the next day. Clay felt relief flood through him. And he couldn't help but notice his brothers' energy levels pick up as well. They would all deny it, but they had been losing their minds just a little bit waiting around for Trent to give the all-clear.

The day was steamy, puddles from the morning's downpour evaporating as the sun burned through dissipating clouds. Clay sat on an upturned crate at the top of the plane's ramp, blinking against the glare.

In his muddled state, he had effectively avoided thinking too much about what had transpired leading up to the night in Kelemassa Town. But now that his mind was realigning itself, and his time in Liberia was drawing to a close, Clay found himself unable to ignore his churning thoughts once again.

Inside his aching head, multiple issues were competing for his attention. They blended together into a jumbled mess, like a ball of string with no obvious loose end to pull. He leaned back against the side of the plane, closing his eyes briefly against the torrent of emotions that barreled through him.

When they'd flown into Liberia just over a week ago, Clay had felt like it had been the worst thing ever. And he hadn't been wrong. Since then, he'd been assaulted by memories, had unintentionally killed his childhood best friend, and had nearly been blown to pieces alongside one of his brothers.

'Intensely Shitty Week from Hell' didn't even begin to cover it.

And yet, now there was a small tendril of sadness unfurling within him, somewhere deep down in his gut, when he thought about going home.

This had been his home, once upon a time.

Clay latched onto the feeling, tried to make sense of where it was coming from. Wondered whether he was perhaps just shaken up from the blast, emotions not quite functioning one hundred percent.

He stared out at the horizon, unconsciously gazing in the direction of Clay-Ashland. Felt a strange niggling. Tried, but couldn't quite shake it off.

Footsteps on the ramp had him lifting his eyes.

Sonny pulled up beside him, freshly showered.

Clay coughed, pulled a face. Made a show of fanning his nose. "A little heavy on the deodorant, don't you think?"

Sonny wasn't fazed. Grabbed a crate, flipped it. Took a seat, stretched his legs out. "It's this damned Liberian heat," he explained with a huff. "Pretty sure I've lost my own body weight in sweat this last week."

Clay quirked a lip. It hadn't escaped his notice that during the time they'd been stuck here since the blast, Sonny hadn't complained once. He appreciated his best friend's efforts. Liberia checked a lot of Sonny's no-go zone boxes.

Sonny leaned forward, mirroring Clay. Elbows on knees. Shifted, reached into his pocket. Held something out for Clay. "Been meaning to give this back to you," he said.

Clay hesitated. Extended a hand.

Sonny dropped the dog tags into his open palm.

Clay regarded them a moment. "Was wondering where these got to," he admitted. He undid the clasp, hung them back around his neck.

Sonny shrugged. "I was keeping them safe until you were feeling better." He lowered his gaze. "Just glad to be giving them back to you in person, not burying them with you."

Clay swallowed roughly. Squeezed a tight smile.

Yeah.

They'd cut it a little close, this time.

Silence settled between them, swelled. Lingered.

Clay felt the Texan's gaze upon him. Sensed that Sonny wanted to say something. Decided to beat him to it, change the subject. "Hey," he started, glancing briefly at his brother. "I, uh … I never did apologize for laying into you before we left home, back in the cage room."

A beat passed between them.

Sonny gave a half smile, shook his head. Fiddled with his watch strap. "Nah, man," he replied quietly. "I should be the one to apologize." He blew out a shaky breath. "You were right to be pissed. I've been a shitty friend lately. And I'm damned sorry for that."

Clay huffed. Thought back to that day, barely ten days ago. "I wasn't exactly in the best headspace," he reflected honestly. Thought about his smashed-up phone. "Stella kind of left again," he admitted. "And my dad was being a dick, for a change."

Funny, so much had happened since, that Clay had barely thought about either of them. They seemed like problems from another lifetime. He'd been so stuck in his past, that he'd forgotten about his present.

Sonny ran a hand through his hair. Sighed heavily. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone genuine. "I'd offer to beat Stella up, but it seems inappropriate. Your asshole father, on the other hand …"

Clay snorted, appreciating the support.

"Hey -" Sonny let a hand rest on his shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze. "If Stella doesn't feel like you're worth sticking around for, then she ain't worth your time."

Clay nodded slowly. "Words of wisdom from the great Sonny Quinn," he muttered. "You get that from Cosmo this time?"

Sonny huffed a laugh. Shook his head.

"Life experience, then?" Clay continued, raised a brow. His head was beginning to pound, reminding him that he was due for painkillers.

Sonny met his gaze, let a smile ghost his lips. "Something like that," he answered.

Clay squeezed a smile in return, braced for Sonny to brush him off, change the subject like he always did.

But Sonny didn't this time. Instead, he pulled himself straighter, ran a hand over his beard. Adjusted the cap on his head. Cleared his throat, almost nervously.

Clay glanced at him, and then squinted back at the horizon. Listened as a plane's engine rumbled in the distance.

"You know," Sonny started, clasping his hands between his knees, wringing fingers nervously. "This girl of mine, she's taught me a lot about what it means to really care for someone."

Clay felt slightly caught off guard by the vulnerability he heard lining Sonny's tone.

"And I'm really sorry, again, that I haven't told you more about her." Sonny shifted on the crate. Glanced around, as if checking for company.

Clay picked up on his brother's anxiety. Realized it wasn't fake. Found himself also double checking that they were alone, though he had no idea why.

Sonny laughed nervously. Chewed his lip.

Clay had never seen the gruff Texan in such a state. It didn't suit him. Clay nearly told him not to worry about sharing anything further, despite his curiosity.

But it seemed Sonny was determined to erase this secret between them. His eyes met Clay's, before skipping across to the hanger.

Clay looked over towards their makeshift command center, saw Davis chatting with a few of the support personnel. Noticed that Sonny's gaze was locked on her.

"I would offer for you to meet her," Sonny continued, lowering his voice, keeping his words between them. "But you kinda already have."

Clay took a moment to register the meaning behind the admission. Perhaps it was the concussion. He furrowed his brow in confusion. Glanced at Sonny, who was still looking at Davis. Let his eyes swing back to Davis – who caught them staring, offered a slight smile and a nod, before stepping out of view.

Clay felt his breath catch.

Holy shit.

He pinned Sonny with a look, connecting the dots and suddenly understanding the gravity of Sonny's situation, and just why his best friend had been so hesitant to share such a secret. He searched for words. Couldn't find any.

Sonny picked up for him. "I know I don't need to tell you how important it is that this stays between us." His eyes were pleading. "It's not just my career at stake, if word ever got out."

Clay sucked in a breath. Of course he understood. He loved Davis like a sister, Sonny like a brother. On one hand he was thrilled at the news. But on the other, he was terrified for them. It was a heavy secret to carry. He felt guilty for having given Sonny so much grief for not opening up about it. Almost wished he could take it all back. Sonny was placing a huge amount of trust in him, by telling him.

Clay swallowed roughly. Nodded. "You know I've got your back," he said levelly, pushing as much reassurance into his words as he could manage.

Sonny nodded stiffly. Squeezed a smile. "I'm sorry you ever thought I doubted that."

Clay sighed. Reached over, squeezed Sonny's shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't listen when you said it was complicated." He let his hand fall. "I understand now. But I feel like I backed you into a corner."

Sonny waved him off. Offered a fist for Clay to bump.

Clay didn't hesitate.

"Best friends don't keep secrets, right?" Sonny said.

Clay felt his stomach turn slightly.

Damn straight.

They did not.

Clay pulled himself straighter on the crate. Stifled a wince as his knife wound pulled. It was healing nicely, but was still tender.

Sonny eyed him, obviously noticing the stiff movements. "You should go lay back down. Need me to get Trent?"

Clay shook his head. "Had enough of laying down," he grumbled. He would find Trent, grab some painkillers. But in the meantime, he was thinking that perhaps Sonny might be able to help him with something. "Hey," he said, glancing at his worried looking brother. "I need to ask you a favor."

Sonny huffed, appeared wary. "That seems to be going around," he replied. Raised a brow, waited for Clay to continue.

Clay was confused by the response, but continued anyway. "I, uh," he started, glancing over at the van parked by the hanger – the same one they'd taken to the hospital, so he'd been told. "I was wondering if you might be able to convince Jason to let me go take care of something, before we head out tomorrow morning?"

Sonny looked between Clay and the van. Let out a laugh. Shook his head. "No," he replied firmly. "Absolutely not. There's no way in hell he'd let you leave here."

Clay had expected that. "I wouldn't go alone," he clarified. And then added, tone hopeful, "You could take me."

This time Sonny laughed harder. "Oh, man. How hard did you hit your head? There's no way I'm taking you anywhere."

Clay put on his best crestfallen look. Puppy dog eyes that Sonny always gave him shit for.

"Oh, hell no," the Texan argued, shaking a finger. "Don't try to pull that shit."

Clay reversed, realizing that Sonny wasn't going to back down. Adjusted his expression to convey that he was serious. Levelled Sonny with a look. "I wouldn't ask, if it wasn't important," he explained gently. Chewed his lip as he looked back out at the horizon. "I don't know if I'll ever be back here," he continued, dropping his guard. He felt sadness settle in his stomach once again. Looked pleadingly at Sonny. "There's something I need to do before I leave. It would mean a lot if you could help me. Please."

Clay wasn't one to beg. And he wasn't begging now – simply asking, in a very uncharacteristically vulnerable way.

Sonny had shared something major with him. And Clay wanted to return the gesture, extend the same level of trust. Open a box, if he could.

Sonny must have caught on to the seriousness in Clay's tone, because he muttered a string of curses, rolled his eyes.

"Please?" Clay asked again.

"Important, you say?" Sonny rubbed his beard.

Clay nodded.

Sonny considered for a long moment. Eventually he caved in. "Ah, hell."

Clay let a grin split his face.

"But only because I owe you," Sonny cut him off. "Don't go getting your hopes up. Chances are you're not going anywhere." He pushed up from the crate, grumbled something else under his breath that Clay didn't quite catch.

Clay grabbed at his brother's pants leg, catching him before he moved off. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Sonny patted his hand. Didn't reply.

Clay let his smile linger, let Sonny go. Let his eyes drift back to the horizon. Tried to follow Sonny's advice and not get his hopes up that he would be leaving the airfield before the next morning.

But he knew that, if he could, it might just make saying goodbye to this place a little easier.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Sonny gripped the wheel, dodging pot holes, bouncing in his seat along with the van.

Beside him, Clay leaned back in his seat, bracing against the movement – window cracked with warm, moist air blowing through, tussling his hair.

How Jason had approved them to leave the airfield, Sonny still wasn't sure. He'd explained that Clay had wanted to head out to take care of something, had said that it was important. Jason had thought it over, growled, argued with himself for a minute. But he'd agreed, leaving Sonny to do a double take, ask him to repeat his answer because he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"You have two hours," their team leader had stated, reluctance heavy in his tone. "Take a sat phone. Don't let Clay out of your sight."

Sonny had agreed to the terms, wishing like hell Jason had instead denied the request. But he owed Clay, and their boy seemed to have something important on his mind. This mission hadn't been easy on their youngest brother – hell, he'd nearly been blown up. Again. But in the end, it was Clay who had helped find Hassan. If a small outing would make him happy, then who were they to deny it.

"Trent?" Sonny had asked Jason cautiously, thinking of how their medic would react to knowing Clay was out on an excursion.

Jason had blown out a breath, muttered more curses. But had waved Sonny off. "Go. I'll talk to Trent."

Jason had some balls, Sonny thought. Trent was going to lose his shit. He'd hurried off, too scared to hang around in case he witnessed the fallout.

And now here they were, caps and sunglasses on, civilian clothes. Heading towards Clay's chosen destination of Clay-Ashland.

The daylight landscape was about what Sonny had imagined – ramshackle houses here and there, large areas of dense forest, fields. Rubbish piled like driftwood on the sides of the road or blown against barbed wire fences. Animals in various states of life and decay.

It was hard to imagine Clay growing up here. Sonny swallowed roughly, thinking back to his own childhood. What a stark contrast this was to the relatively cushy life of the average American child.

His eyes darted to his passenger. "You're awfully quite there, Goldilocks," he commented. "Haven't passed out, have you?"

Clay turned to him, quirked a lip. "No," he replied. "Just thinking."

Sonny waited. But Clay didn't expand upon his comment.

Instead, the younger man said. "I'm really happy, for you and Davis." He smiled. "She's one of the good ones."

Sonny hadn't expected that out-of-the-blue comment. Couldn't help the smile that tugged at his own lips. Yeah. She was most definitely one of the best.

"Don't fuck it up, okay?"

Sonny laughed. Shit. He'd try not to.

Clay rubbed at his eyes, stifled a yawn. "You know where we're going?"

"Absolutely not." Sonny had checked the map before they'd left. It was a fairly straightforward route, but he wasn't sure he completely trusted Google Maps Liberia. He was relying on Clay to sing out if they were veering too far off course.

But the younger man was fading, hunching down further in his seat. And they still had another twenty minutes to go.

"You gonna hurl?" Sonny asked. He'd brought an emesis bag, just in case.

Clay shook his head. "No, just tired."

Sonny blew out a breath. "No shit, Sherlock. You're still recovering from a concussion, remember?"

Clay didn't reply. Leaned his head back.

Sonny felt anxiety tingle through him. This was a stupid idea. "I can turn around," he offered. "Head back."

But Clay shook him off. "Just stay straight," he muttered, jaw clenched. "Turn right when the road ends. Follow the river."

Sonny sighed. Of course they wouldn't head back. Clay was way too stubborn for that. He shifted uncomfortably, adjusted his sweaty grip on the wheel. "You still haven't told me what we're doing," he complained.

Clay turned his shaded gaze to his window. Drew an unsteady breath. "I'll explain when we get there," he replied softly.

Sonny swallowed down his objection. Didn't reply. He had picked up on the fact that there was more to this little outing than Clay was letting on. Felt that perhaps if he backed off, gave his brother enough space, then he would find out soon enough. "Get some rest," he found himself saying. "I'll wake you when we're there."

Clay huffed, settled further down into his seat. "Wake me if you get lost."

Sonny returned the huff. "Ye of little faith."

But Clay's joke wasn't entirely off the mark. All the roads looked the damned same, and Sonny was sure they'd passed the same field at least ten times.

Clay didn't reply. Perhaps already asleep – it was hard to tell behind the sunglasses.

Reflexively, Sonny watched for the rise and fall of his brother's chest. Felt reassured when he caught it. Told himself off for being so paranoid.

A noisy motorbike sped past, darting recklessly onto the wrong side of the road.

Clay didn't stir.

Sonny watched the bike move further ahead of them, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. Let his eyes settle upon the horizon, noticed the gathering storm clouds.

He wouldn't be sad to put this place in his rearview mirror. Dirt, humidity, and oppressive heat were some of his very least favorite things. He wouldn't have done well if he'd been shipped here to live in a town in the middle of nowhere.

He darted another glance at his assumedly sleeping brother.

It was no wonder Clay didn't complain about the conditions they faced sometimes when on missions, if this was the environment he'd grown up in.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay woke to Sonny gently poking him in the shoulder.

"Wakey wakey," came the Texan drawl. "I've chauffeured your ass to your requested destination. Now will you please tell me what in God's name we're doing here?"

Clay cracked a small smile at Sonny's obvious annoyance. It was stuffy and sticky in the van, with little breeze blowing in through the windows now that they were stationary.

Sonny shifted in his seat, cursing as he peeled his shirt from the seat back. "So much sweat," he grumbled. Snagged a new water bottle, twisted off the cap and downed half the contents in one go.

Clay blinked around, slowly recognizing where they were.

Sonny had pulled the van to the side of the road under a scraggly tree that offered a small amount of shade.

Clay Looked up and down the street, twisting gently in his seat, careful not to jar his injuries. The house they had raided the first night they were here was a few blocks behind them. He gestured up ahead. "Keep going down this street, then hang a left at the end."

Sonny gave him a look. Shoved the van back into gear and pulled back out onto the street. "Yes, master."

Clay rubbed bleary eyes. "No slave jokes here, Sonny."

Sonny replied with an eye roll. "Wasn't going for that."

Clay quirked a lip, gaze traveling to their surroundings – scattered houses that had barely changed in all these years, streets he'd walked a thousand times. When he'd lived here, he'd known nearly everyone in the town. Briefly he wondered how many of those once familiar faces remained.

They turned left where Clay had requested, continued on down another street. Sonny made a comment about every dirt road looking the same.

Clay was barely listening. This street held a thousand memories for him. Traveling along it again for the first time in so many years felt surreal. And when his old house appeared around a bend, he felt a sudden flood of emotion.

"Stop here," he said, voice slightly wavering. "Please."

Sonny once again pulled off the road.

Clay stared out his window at the timber house with wrap-around verandahs, eyes locked on the front door as if expecting his grandmother to burst through at any moment, rush to greet them. Let his gaze travel to the small work shed at the rear, where his grandfather had spent many hours repairing various items he'd picked up in rubbish heaps, just so that he could give them to families in need. He half expected to see the man emerge, wiping off his hands with a dirty old rag, ready to come and wrap Clay in a tight hug.

But the house remained still, and the ghosts of his memories faded away. He blinked back prickling eyes, swallowed the lump in his throat.

Sonny sat silently, gaze also on the house.

Clay cleared his throat, shifted slightly. "That's, um," he started. Lost his words. Took a moment to find them again. "That's the house I grew up in," he explained.

Sonny's expression softened, obviously picking up on Clay's emotion.

"That's where my grandparents lived," Clay continued. Gave half a smile. Looked over towards his old bedroom window. "It was my home for nearly twelve years."

Sonny let out a long breath. "That's a lot of time to spend in a place," he commented. "Bet you got a lot of memories here."

Clay felt his eyes prickle once again. Felt grateful he was wearing sunglasses. "Yeah," he replied. "Yeah, I do."

Silence settled between them, and they sat staring at the house for a moment longer.

Eventually Clay drew a steadying breath, popped open his door. "Come on," he explained, sliding carefully down from his seat. Ignored Sonny's startled protests.

"Hey, whoa now. You never said anything about going for a wander."

Clay steadied himself. Looked around.

The street was empty. Not unusual.

Slammed the door.

Sony rounded the vehicle, looked ready to push him back inside.

Clay ducked away from the attempt, shoved his hands in his pockets and adjusted the cap on his head. Crossed the road towards an area of forest. Caught the river's glint between the trees.

Sonny followed with a grumble and a curse.

"I wont be long," Clay reassured him. "I promise."

"You can barely walk straight," Sonny muttered, keeping his voice low and checking around them for company, aware that they didn't exactly look like locals.

Clay shrugged, continued on. Climbed unsteadily over a broken fence, and began to make his way through the vegetation, ignoring his pounding head.

Sonny kept pace, slapping at a prickly bush that threatened to tangle him as they passed. Let out a string of colorful cruses.

Clay picked his way through the foliage, heading towards the river. The air was thick with humidity, and clouds were gathering with the promise of rain. With any luck they would make it back to the airfield before the downpour. The warm vegetation smelled sweet, with a hint of cow dung on the breeze. A chorus of frogs lifted from the river bank ahead of them, and a V of water birds passed noisily overhead.

"I'm gonna ask again -" Sonny's tone was clipped. "What the hell are we doing here?"

Clay didn't reply. Stopped by the river's edge, scanning down along the bank. Eyes fell upon the tree he was searching for – taller than the rest of the scrub and palms, bark knotted, canopy wide like an umbrella. He steadied himself against a wave of lightheadedness. Motioned Sonny forward. "Down here," he said, by way of explanation.

Behind him, Sonny grumbled, but continued to follow.

The river was brown, muddy from rain. The bank slumped in places, and they had to tread carefully.

Clay slowed as he approached the tree, remembering countless times sitting in this exact spot, staring out across the murky water. He'd laughed here. He'd cried here. He'd hid here, on occasion. It had been his thinking spot. A place of refuge when he'd needed an escape. And it had barely changed, in all this time.

He pocketed his sunglasses. Let his hand rest upon the rough bark of the tree's trunk, embracing memories. Ran a finger over its uneven surface. Closed his eyes briefly, savoring the moment.

He remembered the last time he'd sat here. It had been just before he'd returned to the States. Mulbeh had been with him. He allowed a sad smile to ghost his lips.

Sonny hung back, silent, possibly picking up on Clay's demeanor.

Clay was grateful for the moment. Swallowed back the lump still bobbing in his throat. Inhaled. Exhaled, slowly. Removed his hand from the tree's trunk, and began searching around the base.

And there it was.

Clay dropped to a crouch, stifling a wince as the motion jarred his knife wound. Snagged the rock from where it lay half buried in mud. Straightened. Brushed it off, revealing the now dirt-filled hand-carved grooves.

A jagged 'C', and beneath it, an 'M'.

A smile tugged at his lips, even as his eyes filled. He turned slowly to face Sonny, leaning back against the tree to stop himself wobbling over.

Sonny must have noticed his unsteadiness, because he reached out a hand. "Whoa," he said, worry evident. "You good?"

Clay stared at the rock in his palm. Nodded jerkily.

Sonny raised a questioning brow. "That's, um, a nice rock you have there," he said dubiously. And then added. "Now's the part where you tell me I drove you all this way for a rock, isn't it."

Clay let out a small laugh. Let his legs fold and slid to the ground. Sitting down meant that he wouldn't fall over. The mud didn't bother him. He'd sat here plenty of times as a kid.

Sonny hesitated, eyed the ground, decided to squat instead of follow suit.

Clay drew a steadying breath, handed the rock to Sonny.

Time to open the box.

He let his gaze drift across the muddy water. Watched a bird swoop, snag a fish.

"When we went after Hassan the first night we were here," he started, voice small. "And I was jumped by the guy with the knife- " He paused, fighting against his reflexes to reinforce his walls, instead of take them down. "I, um, I wasn't entirely honest about what happened."

Sonny flipped the rock, ran a finger over the carved initials. Didn't interrupt, just listened.

Clay felt his stomach knot uncomfortably. Closed his eyes against a vivid image of Mulbeh dying, blood in his teeth. Couldn't quite stop the tear that burned its way down his cheek.

"I knew the guy," he explained, voice broken. Wiped at his eyes. Took the rock back from Sonny, absently rubbed a thumb over the 'M'. "He was my best friend, for nearly the whole time I lived here." Another tear fell. His throat was so tight it hurt. "We were as close as brothers." He blinked rapidly, but the tears kept coming, and his voice was threatening to give out. He couldn't stop it. "I don't know how he got caught up with Hassan, but he did. And I -" His shoulders began to shake.

Sonny placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Squeezed gently.

Clay met his brother's gaze. Let the tears fall freely. "I shot him." The admission hurt, even though at the time he'd had no choice. "He attacked me, and we fought. He recognized me, and it was like being hit by a fucking freight train, realizing who he was." He stopped rubbing the rock, squeezed it tightly instead. "I watched him die."

Sonny blew out a breath, kept his hand on Clay's arm.

Clay felt his spine collapsing, heaved in breaths and struggled to stay upright as fresh grief overwhelmed him.

Sonny gently shuffled closer, plopping down, seeming to forget about the muddy ground. Pulled Clay against him.

Clay was hurting too much to feel embarrassed. Leaned into Sonny's shoulder and squeezed his eyes closed, willing his breathing calm and the burning tears to stop falling.

They sat in silence, the river bubbling a few feet away. The frogs and crickets still singing, oblivious.

Eventually Sonny blew out a slow breath. "I'm sorry, man," he said gently, briefly tightening his embrace. "That's a fucking rough twist of fate."

Clay hiccupped. Sniffed. Yeah, it damned well was.

"We like to think we're in control of our own lives," the Texan continued. "But you never manage to dodge all the curve balls."

Clay wiped at wet cheeks. Couldn't argue that.

"Fucking sucks, sometimes." Sonny released his hold. Looked at Clay levelly. "Thanks for telling me," he said genuinely.

Clay nodded slowly, feeling some of the weight lift from within him. Some of his grief dissipate, just a little. Counted his breaths until he felt he had regained some of his composure.

Sonny eyed the rock. "You gonna take that with you?" He asked.

Clay squeezed the rock tighter. Yeah. He was.

Sonny nodded. Offered a small smile. "You know, most kids carve their names on trees."

Clay felt a smile tug at his lip as well. "Rocks last longer," he stated.

Sonny didn't seem to have a response for that. Glanced at his watch. Sighed, and pushed to his feet.

Clay let his gaze travel across the water once more. It was strange, being back here after so long. He'd never thought he would sit here again. Life definitely threw some curve balls, that was for sure.

"We'd better get moving," Sonny prompted. "I promised Jace I'd have you back within two hours." He reached down to help Clay up. "Wouldn't want to be late, and have you turn into a pumpkin."

Clay allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Leant against the tree to stop himself going straight back down again. Felt his head protest painfully against the movement.

"Need a hand back to the van, Cinderella?"

Clay wiped the last tears from his lashes. Rolled his eyes, but accepted the offer of help anyway. "Cinderella didn't turn into a pumpkin, you idiot," he muttered, allowing himself to be steered back along the muddy bank. Pocketed the rock. "It was her coach, not her."

Sonny snickered. "Of course, my mistake. You know your Disney princess stories."

Clay nearly lost his balance over a tree root, clutched more tightly to Sonny as his steadiness wavered. "Cinderella wasn't created by Disney," he argued. "The story as we know it dates back to the late sixteen hundreds."

Sonny laughed aloud. "Seriously, you're ridiculous."

Clay felt amusement bubble within him. He really did enjoy pushing Sonny's buttons. He thought about his former best friend, felt the comforting weight of the rock in his pocket.

Mulbeh would have liked Sonny, he thought.

They picked their way back to the van in silence, Clay's mind drifting between the past and the present.

Once they arrived, Clay allowed Sonny to help him aboard. He sat in the passenger seat, staring once again at his grandparents' old house.

He could remember the very first day he'd arrived here, clear as if it were yesterday. He never would have imagined he'd sit here as an adult, grateful for all the memories.

Sonny climbed into the driver's seat, slammed the door. Jabbed the key into the ignition and revved the engine to life. He didn't drive straight away. Cast a glance towards his younger brother instead, let it linger. "You good?" He asked gently.

Clay pulled in a shaky breath. Felt around the outline of the rock in his pocket. He was as good as he was going to be.

Sonny put the van in gear, pulled back out onto the street. Swung them around to head back the way they'd come.

Clay glanced in the side mirror as they went, seeing his childhood house slowly receding behind them. Felt a mixture of peace and sadness. He hoped his grandparents would be proud of the man he'd become, even if sometimes he doubted himself.

He placed the lid gently back on his box of memories. Went to lock it.

Hesitated.

Decided instead to leave it slightly ajar.

"You know," Sonny said, as they turned back onto the main road that led through town. "You still haven't told me if this town is named after you, or if it's the other way around."

Clay leaned an elbow on the window sill, let his cheek rest against his knuckles. Closed his eyes briefly against the pounding in his head. Offered a slight smile. "I'm named after the town," he admitted.

Sonny regarded him, raised a questioning brow.

Clay cast his mind back. Opened his eyes and watched the scenery drift by, caught glimpses of the river glinting in the distance through the trees. "When I was born," he explained. "My dad was spun up. My mom was at the hospital alone."

It seemed fitting, that Ash had been absent for his birth. The man had been an absent father Clay's entire life – of course it had started at day one.

"My mom was in a bad way, apparently." Or so he'd been told. "Traumatic delivery. Blood loss. Severe post-partum depression. She couldn't even manage the paperwork."

Sonny's eyes remained set on the road, but a flicker of sympathy passed over his expression.

Clay chewed his lip. "The nurse filling in the paperwork asked for my name, but my mom wasn't coherent. Kept asking for her parents. Kept saying Clay-Ashland." He rubbed at scratchy eyes. "I guess they thought she was answering their question. I mean, it's a name, isn't it. And it's not that uncommon to have a parent's name as a middle name."

Sonny huffed. "Bet that fueled Ash's ego."

Clay twitched a slightly bitter smile. "Think it's one of the only things he's ever liked about me."

Sonny readjusted his grip on the wheel, cursed and apologized as he failed to dodge a nasty pothole.

Clay grit his teeth against the aches and pains the jolt caused. Waved off the apology.

"Hey," Sonny said, glancing over. "I appreciate you sharing all this stuff with me."

Clay returned the glance. Nodded. He had to admit it felt good to talk about it.

"I'm sorry this trip's been so damn rough on you," the Texan continued, genuine regret lining his tone. "Coming back here when you weren't exactly in the best frame of mind. Getting knifed. Watching your best friend die. Nearly getting blown up." His words faded at the last part, bit down on his lip.

Clay leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes against a wave of lightheadedness. Swallowed unevenly.

Sonny shot him another look. Continued to chew on his lip. Let his gaze linger a moment. "You know I still have no fucking idea how you saw that s-vest." The admission left his lips in a rush. He shook his head, as if trying to clear the memory. "Swear to God, I barely had the door open when you tackled me."

Clay cracked his eyes to half-mast. Felt hairs prickle as he recalled his dream. He hadn't told Sonny about it. Hell, he wasn't even sure he was ready to admit it to himself. It defied logical explanation.

Sonny fidgeted against the wheel. He glanced once more at Clay, who remained silent.

But Clay wasn't ready to open up about that yet. He closed his eyes once more. Let go of the breath he'd been holding. "When we're home," he replied quietly, "and we've got a few beers in us." Or perhaps something harder, like whiskey. Perhaps even a whole bottle. Or two. "Then we'll chat about what happened that night."

Sonny's brow furrowed slightly, and he looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. His eyes lingered on Clay another moment or two, before he eventually set his gaze back on the road. "Okay than," he agreed reluctantly. "It's a date."

Clay quirked a smile. Stomach grumbled. "I could really go a pizza right now," he muttered.

"God damn that would be amazing," Sonny agreed. Returned the smile.

"I'm ready to go home," Clay admitted.

And he meant it. No matter what awaited him with his father, and with Stella.

His friendship with Sonny was mended. And knowing that his brother had his back made dealing with his dysfunctional family and his broken heart much easier.

"I'm with you on that one, kid," Sonny agreed. Reached over and gently squeezed his shoulder. "Let's go home."

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

_Clay flipped open his pocket knife. Skeptically eyed the small rock, then Mulbeh. "You don't think we should put our initials on the tree instead? It'd be easier."_

_They were in Clay's thinking spot, by the river. The day was coming to a close, and soon they would need to be home for dinner._

_Mulbeh shook his head, tapped the rock. "The tree can fall down, but the rock will be here for years to come," he replied in Kpelle._

_Clay felt a smile tug at his lips. Realized his best friend was right._

"_Strong, like our friendship," he stated in the same dialect._

_Mulbeh returned the smile, eyes bright. "Strong. Like us."_

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

**~End~**

**I must admit, I really enjoyed writing this story :) Although it was a surprisingly emotional journey. I let Clay borrow some of my own memories, from the time I spent working with a mission in rural Romania. Digging into my own boxes was good, and bad. And the dream Clay had was based on something my Grandpa told me, years ago. He served with the RAAF in WWII, and I remember him telling me once that some of the guys had premonitions of their deaths. I found that thought really haunting, and heartbreaking. **

**Anyway, thanks again for reading :) And for all your kind words. I'm really, really, really hoping that this season gives us a good look into Clay's past - preferably with a lot of angst, and comfort from his brothers - oh, and whump would be a bonus ;)**


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